Adam stirred before the sun had fully risen.
His head still throbbed faintly, and his body ached from the fever, but what pulled him fully awake wasn't pain.
It was the weight of her hand—warm, curled around his.
He turned his head slowly and found her there.
Sofia.
Asleep in a wooden chair, her head resting on her other arm, lips parted slightly, lashes soft against her cheeks. Still holding on. Even in sleep.
A breath escaped him—somewhere between a sigh and a silent prayer.
Last night wasn't a dream.
He remembered the rain. Her voice. Her touch. The porridge. The way she'd wiped his face with such care. And the words he'd spoken while drifting in and out of consciousness.
I love you, Sofia. I just didn't know how to be the man you needed.
His chest tightened at the memory—but this time, it wasn't fear. It was… peace.
She hadn't walked away.
Gently, so gently, he untangled their fingers and reached for her.
