Lyra’s hands trembled slightly as she carried the bowl of warm water back to the bedside. She could feel Kyson’s eyes on her, sharp and heavy even though he said nothing.
The doctor had given instructions lightly, almost teasingly, before stepping out for a moment to grab fresh supplies — leaving them alone in the stifling silence.
She set the bowl down carefully on the side table, the soft clink of porcelain the only sound in the room. Her throat felt dry, too tight to swallow. Her instincts screamed that she shouldn’t be this close to him. That she shouldn't touch him again.
But Kyson didn’t tell her to stop.
He didn’t say anything at all.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Lyra dipped the clean cloth into the water, wrung it out until it was just damp, and then turned toward him.
Kyson
