The cold stops working, and I know it before Adam says anything because the ice cracks and thins beneath my skin, shrinking faster than it should while the heat inside me keeps climbing. My breaths come shallow and quick, each inhale scraping my throat as if the air itself has turned sharp, and I clutch the edge of the tub because the water no longer feels like relief so much as proof that my body is winning a fight I never agreed to start.
“Adam,” I whisper, then say again, louder, because holding his name inside hurts more than letting it break. “Adam, please.”
He is already there, kneeling beside the tub, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles are white, his gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder as if looking directly at me might snap the last thread of his control. The bond thrums
