POV: Eryx Voltaire
The wall was too damn thin.
I sat on the edge of that hotel bed in the dark, and I could hear everything. Not words… she wasn't speaking but the small small sounds… the creak of her mattress when she shifted her weight, soft pad of her bare feet on the carpet, click of the bathroom door closing.
I dragged my hands down my face and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding for ages.
I had stood in that hallway too long, heard her voice rise through the steam, it was rich, full and nothing like the quiet, careful tone she used when she called me sir. The song was somewhat old, something slow and aching. I couldn't make out the words… I didn't necessarily need to because the ache and feeling from it was enough.
She sang like a woman who had been holding something
