Chapter28:Cost ofWatching
Thorne's Pov The rooftop was a sanctuary of cold air and iron, but the silence between us was heavy, vibrating with the aftershocks of the station. My hand was a map of raw nerves, the skin split across the knuckles where the kinetic feedback had been too much for the physical vessel to contain. I stared out at the horizon, watching the city lights bleed into the smog, waiting for the adrenaline to finish its slow, agonizing retreat from my system. “You’re bleeding.” Thorne’s voice came from directly behind me—too sharp, too fast—shattering the quiet. I heard the scuff of his leather boots on the gravel, and the moment his eyes landed on my hand, his breath hitched. It was a jagged, visceral sound. « Merde… » The word fell from him like a reflex, ancient and unfiltered. It was the
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