Page 68 of Hollowed

I rinsed the cloth. Dipped it again. Brought it to his hands. Washed his fingers. His palms.

And then, slowly, I reached for his face.

He closed his eyes before I touched him.

But he didn’t pull away.

And I knew what it meant.

I wiped the sweat from his temples. The smudge of ash from beneath his cheekbone. The shadow of something darker from the line of his throat.

When I was done, I set the cloth aside.

And he looked at me.

Like I had done something he would never forgive me for.

And would never stop being grateful for.

I pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

Wrapped it around both of us.

And let him rest his head against my chest.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t breathe like a man who had claimed something.

He breathed like a man who had been kept.

And I kissed the crown of his head.

Because that’s what he was now.

Not my vow.

Not my ruin.

Mine.

ChapterTen

I woke before him.

For a long time, I didn’t move.

His body was curled toward mine, one arm flung across my hips like possession even in sleep. His breath warmed the space between my shoulder blades, slow and steady. If I hadn’t felt the weight of his hand or the rhythm of his chest behind me, I might have believed he was gone again.

But no.

He was here.

Still here.

And the stillness between us wasn’t empty. It was something larger now. Something sacred. Something too vast to speak into.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to watch him without disturbing the fragile quiet we’d built.

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