Grace
The air inside the hollow was thin and cold, sharp as glass against Grace’s lungs, but she didn’t care. Not about the chill, not about the ache in her limbs, not about the blood crusting on her own skin. All she felt was the warmth of him—Kaleb—curled beside her, the weight of his body pressing into hers like a promise he hadn’t spoken aloud. His breath rasped against her ear, rough and uneven, a rhythm that didn’t match the stillness around them.
She closed her eyes and let herself listen. Not to the wind, which howled faintly through the trees like a mourning song, or to the distant echoes of the forest holding its breath. She listened to him. To the way his chest rose and fell, to the way his fingers twitched now and then, as if even in rest he couldn’t quite let go of the fight
