Outside, the city seemed far away, muffled and distant, as if the world had decided to slow down just for them. Amara sat on the edge of the bed, one knee tucked up, absently folding and refolding the towel she’d used earlier to cool Damien’s forehead. His fever had gone down, but he still looked worn, his normally sharp, commanding features softened by fatigue.
She had spent the entire day tending to him—changing the damp cloths, making him sip water, and coaxing him to eat a few spoonfuls of soup she’d ordered from downstairs. It felt strange to see Damien like this, stripped of the armor he wore in the outside world, where every word and movement was calculated and decisive. Here, he was just a man vulnerable, human, and in pain.
Damien stirred, his eyes blinking open, though they wer
