I sit on the couch, leaning back into the leather. It's warm beneath me. Comfortable.
The headache has finally eased, receding like a tide pulling back from shore. The bleeding has stopped too. My nose still feels raw, the inside of my nostrils tender, but the metallic taste has faded from my tongue.
I'm feeling better.
Not good. But better.
Silas sits beside me. Close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, but not so close that we touch. His movements are soft—deliberate, like he's handling something fragile, something that might break if he presses too hard. He wipes the bloodstains from my face with a damp cloth, dabbing gently at the corner of my mouth, along my jaw, beneath my nose.
His expression is strange. Blank in a way I haven't seen before. Not the usual calm that drapes over him like a second skin. This is something else.
Something hollow. Distant.
