Thorne
I stood by her bedside longer than I should have, watching her chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven breaths. Her lashes twitched as she slept, her skin pale against the pillow, like she hadn't really rested in weeks. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe none of us had.
I reached down and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, then bent and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"You should rest, little flame," I murmured. "We'll be alright."
Even as I said it, I wasn't sure if I believed it. Not with everything tearing at the seams—between us, between my brothers. Between her and the world.
Still, I straightened, gave her one last look, and stepped out quietly.
The hallway outside the room was quieter than it had any right to be. The kind of silence that didn't soothe—it pressed on your chest like an invisible weight. I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake it off, and made my way down the corridor toward the stairwell.
As I turned the corner, voices caught my attention.
Kiel.
