Serafina
The silence was suffocating. The dripping pipe in the corner, the scrape of my shoes against concrete, the throb of my pulse in my ears—everything felt magnified, as if the world wanted me to drown in this moment.
The lock clicked. The door groaned open.
Rafé stepped inside, moving with a softness that felt wrong on him. No barked commands. No sharp anger. In his hand, a bottle of water. In his eyes, something that pretended to be tenderness.
“You must be thirsty,” he murmured, crouching in front of me. His fingers twisted the cap, and he held the bottle to my lips as though he were doing me some great kindness. “Here. Drink.”
The water was cold and pure, sliding down my dry throat like liquid salvation. A few drops slipped over my chin, and he caught them with his thumb
