Nathan does not put me down the second we get into the room. He keeps me in his arms as if the bed might attack me, or the floor might suddenly open up, or I might evaporate the moment he blinks. I do not fight him. Not when the warmth of the room feels good. Not when his heartbeat is steady under my ear. Not when my body still feels wrung out from magic and fear and too many things brushing against my mind in the dark.
He finally sets me on the bed with the same care someone uses to place an ancient relic onto velvet. Then he stays standing, hands hovering, eyes scanning, breathing too fast.
“Nathan,” I say softly. “I am sitting. I am safe.”
“Maybe,” he mutters, as if the room might suddenly morph into a tunnel.
I stretch out on the blankets, letting my bones sink into the softness. “
