He didn't know when his breathing had slowed.
But it had.
Not from exhaustion or pain or the kind of numbness that came with too many thoughts pressing all at once—but from something simpler, quieter.
It was the sort of stillness that didn't feel empty. It felt earned. Like stepping out of the cold and feeling warmth, reach not just the surface of your skin but also the deeper, inner places most people forget are even there.
Evelyn shifted first. Not away, not even consciously, but just the soft movement of a body relaxing more deeply into comfort.
Her cheek brushed against his chest, skin to skin, and her hair spilled like silver ink across his arm. Her hand, which had been resting gently over his heart, began to move—not aimlessly, but with slow, deliberate strokes.
She traced the faint ridges of his ribs like someone remembering a song by following the lines of its melody with their fingers.
