KANE
My body moved before I gave it permission to. I don't remember deciding to sit—only that one moment I was standing in the doorway, and the next I was in the armchair in the living room, watching her disappear down the hall for the first aid kit like this was something we did every night.
She came back and knelt in front of me, taking my hand without asking. And worse? I let her, all the fight in my body gone.
I watched her work—the careful way she dabbed at the split skin over my knuckles, her brow furrowed in concentration—and something in my chest twisted uncomfortably.
I wouldn't have done this. If someone had spent the better part of a month trying to have me thrown into a dungeon, I would not have knelt at their feet afterward with a cotton swab.
She pressed a little harder
