Grace
The next few days passed in a gray, heavy blur. I barely left my room, spending most of my time staring at the wooden ceiling slats while the strain in my shoulder slowly mended. The room felt smaller with every passing hour, the four walls closing in until the air itself tasted stale.
Kent became a constant, looming shadow. He brought up my meals on a heavy wooden tray, setting them on the nightstand without a word before checking the bandages Mara had wrapped around my collarbone area. He was surprisingly careful for a man whose hands could crush stone, but his quietness only fed the hollow ache in my chest.
He would stand over the bed, his dark frame blocking out what little light filtered through the curtains, his eyes scanning my face for signs of compliance or rebellion. I
