Page 128 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“You should eat something,” Soren says after a moment, his voice softer this time.
“I’m not hungry.”
Soren sighs but doesn’t press.
For a while, silence settles between them. Outside, the wind shifts through the trees, a rustling sound that might have been peaceful on any other night.
Selene reaches forward, brushing her fingers over the back of Dorian’s hand. He is warm, but not feverish. His pulse beats steady beneath her touch.
She closes her eyes briefly, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.
“You really love him, don’t you?” Soren murmurs.
Selene stiffens, her fingers curling slightly.
It isn’t really a question.
“Yes,” she tells him. “And when he wakes up, I need to make sure he knows.”
Selene wakes slowly, warmth pressed against her side, her body curled in comfort she doesn’t remember allowing herself. The sheets beneath her are soft, and for the first time in days, the air in the room feels light—no lingering sickness, no stifling heat.
She blinks herself into wakefulness, the world still blurry with sleep. Then she realises—Dorian is awake.
He’s watching her.
His head is still on the pillow, his dark eyes open, his expression unreadable. But there’s life there now, true wakefulness, not the fevered, unfocused glances from before. His breathing is steady, his colour stronger.
Selene’s heart lurches.
“Dorian,” she breathes.
His lips curve—just slightly, just enough. “Good morning.” His voice is hoarse, rough with exhaustion, but it’s real.
She doesn’t realise she’s shaking until she lifts a hand to touch his face. She hesitates, afraid he might disappear if sheso much as blinks, but when her fingertips brush his cheek, he leans into her touch. Solid. Real. Here.
Tears well in her eyes.
“You—” Her voice catches, and she lets out a weak laugh instead. “You absolute bastard.”
His brows lift in faint amusement. “I take it… I worried you?”
Selene lets out a breathless, broken sound and buries her face in the sheets beside him. “I hate you,” she whispers.
Dorian huffs a quiet laugh. “No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” she agrees, already shifting, lifting herself up on her elbows.
She should say something more. She should be careful, cautious—he’s still weak, still recovering.
But all she can think is that he’s alive.
And then his hand is in her hair, threading through the strands with a familiarity that makes her want to melt into him. “You stayed,” he murmurs.
Selene lets out a soft, trembling breath. “Of course I did.”
She lifts a hand towards his hair, brushing it over his shoulder. It’s so pretty, the way it catches the light. Red-gold. “I like your hair,” she tells him. “I like…”I like all of you, really. I like all of you so, so much it hurts.
And Gods, is he worth it. All of it. Every awful thing that has happened to her, and every awful thing that will. All worth it to have him in her life, to know him, to love him.
