They dressed slowly.
Aiden helped Elizabeth into a clean shift first. The fabric was plain and practical, the kind she wore under everything else when the day demanded formality.
He held it while she stepped in, then settled the straps over her shoulders. His hands moved carefully at the fastenings, checking each one.
Once he paused and pressed his palm flat against her stomach, the same place he had held earlier when they talked in the bed. She covered his hand with hers for a moment. Neither of them spoke. Then he continued.
"You're walking differently," he said.
"I know." She gave a small, private smile. "I'll manage. No one else will notice."
"I will."
"That's the point."
They stood close while he finished the last clasp at her shoulder. The room still smelled of them—sweat, skin, the faint metallic tang of the oil lamp they had left burning too long.
