(Sanya's POV)
I stand in the bathroom with the door locked and my hands flat on the counter and my heart going faster than it should be.
Not fear. Not exactly. Something else. The way he looked at me after the tears were wiped away and the room was cleared. The way his jaw tightened and his eyes changed — from red and raw to something sharp and focused, something that landed on my face and stayed there like a hand pressing down.
He looked at me the way you look at something you've decided to keep.
I didn't like it. I don't like the way my pulse is still jumping, and I don't like that I can't tell whether the jump is fear or something worse.
I change into the nightclothes left for me — silk, cream-colored, nothing I would have chosen — and I stand in front of the mirror.
Same eyes. Sa
