The second day in the infirmary felt different. The men were beginning to joke more, their pain dulled by meds and stubborn pride, but Cordelia wasn’t laughing.
She went through the motions—cleaning wounds, changing dressings, checking vitals—but her mind wasn’t there. Her eyes lingered too long on a scar, her hand hovered mid-air before settling a bandage, her lips pressed tight against words unsaid.
Ash noticed.
From his bed, propped up on too many pillows, he had been watching her. The quiet way she moved. The way her shoulders tensed as though she carried something heavier than a tray of gauze and antiseptic.
He knew why—or at least, he thought he did.
“Little dove,” Ash called softly when she bent near his side, checking the IV.
She startled, blinking fast, as if waking from a d
