The Sentinel
“You saved my life,” she said, looking up at Gill. “Literally. You stood between me and the grave.” The words didn’t come out dramatic. They came out factual, almost clinical, spoken the way one names a truth too large to hold silently. As if saying them aloud was the only way to anchor them, to make them solid enough not to drift away under the weight of everything she had just learned. For a moment, she simply looked at him. Not searching. Not pleading. Just seeing. Gill didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer instead, slow and deliberate, closing the small distance between them until the warmth of him became unmistakable, a steady presence at her back, at her side. The heat of his body bled through the thin space between them, grounding her in a way nothing else in the room, in
- Writer
