Nathan should not have been awake long enough to track my every movement, but he did. Even half exhausted, barely breathing, wrapped in bandages and leaning against a pile of pillows like a man held together by stubbornness alone, he watched me.
Softly. Constantly. Too gently.
It made something inside my chest twist.
The healers muttered about his heart rate, his temperature, his strength. They moved around him like nervous birds, whispering diagnostics and warnings. But every time I stepped near the bed, Nathan’s attention snapped to me like a magnet finding its pair.
And that was the problem.
He looked at me like I was safety. Like I was hope. Like waking up with me sitting there meant everything would be all right.
I could not handle that look. Not tonight. Not now. Not when I was
