Zayne’s POV
Her arms still wrapped around me, awakening something violent and electric in my chest.
Not pain or fear. Memories. A need.
It hits so fast I have to brace my hand against the window to keep myself steady. Her forehead that pressed into my back is warm, familiar, grounding—and suddenly the sterile hospital room doesn’t exist anymore. The beeping machines fade. The ache in my ribs dulls. All I can feel is her.
I close my eyes.
Days. It’s only been days or weeks since I last felt this—this sharp awareness, this feeling under my skin, but it feels longer. Like I’ve been walking around muted, half-dimmed, and she just flipped the switch back on without asking permission.
I don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll kiss her. And if I kiss her, I won’t stop.
“I’m not asking,” I say in
