"Bonnie, it's time to sleep now," Audrey murmured softly. "I'll stay right here with you."
Audrey had always been good with children—better than most.
There was a patience in her touch, a quiet steadiness that came naturally to her, like an instinct etched deep into her bones.
She lay down beside Bonnie, careful not to jostle the small bed, and rested a gentle hand against the girl's back.
Her palm moved in slow, rhythmic pats, a soothing cadence meant to calm a restless heart. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, warm and steady, coaxing sleep the way one might coax a frightened pup back into its den.
Bonnie's breathing gradually evened out. The tightness in her small shoulders loosened, and her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion.
At the doorway, Dorian leaned quietly against the frame, his broad silhouette half-swallowed by shadow. He didn't interrupt. He didn't move. He simply watched.
