Lyra
It’s my second day in the hospital, and Caine hasn’t left my side once.
I’ve drifted in and out of sleep more times than I can count, and every single time… he was still there. Watching. Waiting.
Whenever I shifted even slightly, he was there, adjusting my pillows before I could speak. When my throat felt dry, he was already pouring water, holding the cup steady like I was something fragile.
If he wasn’t resting on his knees or leaning back with his eyes half-closed, he was holding my hand, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against my skin. Sometimes, I’d close my eyes, pretending to sleep just to feel that touch a little longer.
I should’ve been embarrassed, letting him fuss over me like this. But I wasn’t. Not even close. Deep down, I liked it. Needed it. Cherished it in a
