Morning light comes through window.
I’m still on floor nest. Back against wall. Knife on floor where I dropped it. Blanket around shoulders.
Caelan still sits by broken door. Back against it, legs stretched out, head tipped back, eyes closed. He didn’t sleep either. I watched his chest move all night, slow breaths, but not sleeping.
When light hits his face, he opens eyes. Grey, tired, red at edges.
“You okay?” he asks first. Always first.
I nod. Throat dry from screaming.
He looks at my wrists. I rub them without thinking. No marks. But dream still there.
He stands up slow. Stretches. His back pops. He still has no shirt. Bruise on shoulder from where he broke door lock last night.
“I need to show you something,” he says. “If you want to see.”
“What?”
“Proof. That I will never b
