KNOX’S POV
The doctor clears Ember within the hour.
I carry her back to the penthouse myself—not because she can’t walk, but because I need to feel her weight in my arms, need the confirmation that she’s solid and breathing and safe.
She doesn’t protest. She just rests her head against my chest and lets me take her home.
By the time we reach the penthouse, it’s nearly two in the morning. Ember kicks off her heels the second we’re through the door and collapses onto the couch, still wearing that beautiful dress that has been spinning my mind.
She looks exhausted. Wrung out. Like she’s been through a war.
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She takes it without argument.
In the bathroom, I help her out of the dress—carefully, reverently—and wrap her in one
