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CADEN — POV
Baylee’s blood is on my hands.
It smears down my wrists, drying beneath my nails. Her knuckles are swollen, her lip cracked open again from that last hit. A bruise crawls along her jaw—one I felt form under my own skin.
She’s sitting on the bench at the side of the training field, shoulders bowed, elbows on her knees. Silent. Still burning.
I kneel in front of her.
Her breathing stutters when I touch her leg.
She’s healing. Faster than she should.
My body already knows what to do—my blood knits torn skin. Pain dulls. That familiar hum in my bones takes over. And as it does, I feel her shifting too. Her wounds pulling together in tandem with mine. Like she’s riding the wave of my recovery.
She exhales slow. Controlled. And when her eyes flick to mine—there’s somethi
