The light in Elena's bedroom was thick and silver, filtered through heavy velvet curtains that kept out the damp chill of the early morning.
Outside, the rain had started just before dawn, a steady, rhythmic drumming against the high glass windows that made the rest of the house feel miles away.
Liam sat on the edge of her high mattress, his boots kicked off near the door, his bare back hunched forward as he rested his elbows on his knees.
His skin was slick with sweat, dust, and the sharp scent of copper. Every breath felt like a small negotiation with his lungs.
Behind him, the soft rustle of Elena's dress pants was followed by the sharp click of a first-aid kit opening on her nightstand.
She didn't speak immediately, which was always her worst sign. Silence meant she was measuring the damage before she assigned blame.
When her hand finally touched his shoulder, it wasn't the gentle, measured pressure of yesterday.
