Locke
I know she's utterly exhausted now. I can feel it in the way she's curled against me beneath the bubble-less bathwater, boneless and heavy in my arms, her breathing slow and uneven as she drifts somewhere between contentment and sleep.
The storm beyond the window in the other room has softened to a steady rain, and the bathroom feels suspended outside the rest of the world. The water laps quietly against porcelain. Zara remains tucked against my chest as though she's forgotten there’s anywhere else she could possibly be. I know that I’m going to have get things moving now, or we’ll both fall asleep, here in this cooling water.
“Zara.”
She makes a soft humming sound. Not quite a response, it’s more an acknowledgment that she’s heard me and has absolutely no intention of exerting a
