Page 7 of Hollowed

To offer.

But I didn’t move.

Because I knew?—

If I reached back, I would not be offering consent.

I would be making a vow.

And I didn’t know what it would cost.

He didn’t lower his arm.

He didn’t urge.

He just waited.

And I realized then that the fire had never been the test.

He was.

And I had already begun to fail.

ChapterThree

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t have to.

His presence reached further than hands ever could. It slid beneath my skin, past the burns and the bruises and the places they tried to cauterize my want. He stayed knelt in the firelight, eyes on mine, hand outstretched.

Not demanding.

Not coaxing.

Just there.

And I stared at it like it held the knife that would either cut me open or free me. Like the weight of everything I used to be trembled at the edge of his palm.

I should have backed away.

I should have wept.

But all I could feel was the space between us.

The aching holiness of it.

My throat burned. My knees pulsed with blood. My lungs wouldn’t obey. But none of it mattered. Because I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t run. And he was still waiting.

A second passed.

Then another.

Then—

I gave in.

Not out of surrender.

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