Page 113 of Unravelled
Mira gave a sad smile and shook her head, not in dismissal, but acceptance.
“It’s okay... I understand...”
His shoulders dropped, just slightly, like he’d been holding something for far too long, and had finally let it go.
Ren washed himself quickly, his movements efficient. He turned to her. His hands were steady as he guided Mira toward the edge of the bath, his grip firm but gentle.
The warmth had settled deep in her muscles, easing the tension coiled within her, but the moment the cool air met her damp skin, she shivered.
Without hesitation, Ren wrapped her in a thick towel, securing it around her shoulders with careful hands before tugging another around his hips. He crouched in front of her, the flickering light catching on the damp strands of his hair, casting his features in shifting shadow.
His eyes dropped to the deep red bloom beneath the towel, just beneath her ribs. Gently, he reached forward, fingers brushing against the edge of the fabric.
“Let me see,” he said, low and steady.
Mira didn’t resist. He peeled the towel back slowly, exposing the jagged tear in her side, the skin around it flushed and raw. The blood had slowed, but not stopped, and Ren’s jaw clenched at the sight of it. His fingers hovered for a moment before pressing gently along the skin, checking the depth, the spread.
“This needs tending,” he murmured, though the weight in his voice betrayed the quiet edge of fear threaded underneath.
Mira didn’t argue. She was too tired, too wrung out to protest as Ren carefully dabbed at the wound, his movements practiced and efficient. He worked in silence, save for the occasional exhale, his fingers gentle against the bruised, battered skin.
She watched him, her vision hazy with exhaustion. He was meticulous. Purposeful. As if this, tending to her, was the only thing in the world that mattered in this moment.
Tharion stood still in the water, his arms braced at his sides. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. He just breathed, slow and deep, as if he were trying to hold himself together one breath at a time.
Ren finished dressing the wound and helped Mira to her feet. A new towel placed snug around her as he led her out of the washroom and into the dimly lit bedchamber.
Waiting on the bed were three neatly folded sets of clothes. Loose pants. Soft, oversized shirts. Ren’s. She let out a slow breath, fingers brushing over the fabric. It was familiar. Safe.
Ren didn’t say a word as he turned away, giving her space to change. Mira let the towel slip from her shoulders and reached for the clothes. The fabric was worn and soft, the scent of wood smoke, distinctly Ren, clinging to it.
She pulled on the loose pants first, tying them at the waist before slipping the oversized shirt over her head.When she turned back, Ren was watching her from the doorway in his towel. Not in a way that made her feel self-conscious, but in the way someone watches over something fragile. Something breaking.
He turned away as she crawled beneath the blankets, the soft fabric cool against her battered skin. She barely had the energy to pull them up over her shoulders, exhaustion pressing her deep into the mattress.
She heard him move back to the washroom, the soft shuffle of his footsteps against the floor. A murmur of voices. Then the sound of water sloshing as Tharion was helped out of the bath.
Mira closed her eyes, not out of sleepiness, but to steady herself against the quiet weight of grief in the air.She listened. To the rustle of fabric as Tharion dressed. To the steady, measured pace of Ren’s movements. To the heavy silence that stretched between them all. Then footsteps. She heard Tharion move toward the door, hesitation in his steps. He was leaving.
But before he could go, Ren’s voice cut through the quiet. “You’re staying in here, Tharion.”
The bed dipped beside her as Ren slid beneath the blankets. The warmth of him radiated through the space behind her. On the opposite side of Ren, another weight. Tharion. He hesitated only for a breath before settling in, silent, exhausted.
Mira exhaled slowly, the tension in her limbs loosening just slightly. No one spoke. No one needed to. They had survived the night. And for now, for just a moment, none of them had to be alone.
???
Mira stirred in the haze of sleep, the world soft and blurred around the edges. Dawn's first light filtered through the window, flickering across the room in shifting patterns. The warmth around her was steady, solid,
Ren’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his breath slow and even, buried in her hair. She barely had the strength to open her eyes, barely had the will to pull herself from the quiet comfort of it. His grip, even in sleep, was firm, like some part of him feared she might slip away if he let go.
Through the haze, she caught movement. Tharion. Standing by the window, his silhouette framed against the soft gold of the rising sun. His arms were crossed, his posture still and quiet, gaze locked on the horizon where night bled into morning.
The light flickered over his face, tracing the exhaustion carved deep into his features. Mira watched, or maybe only dreamed she did. The weight of sleep pulled at her again, the warmth of Ren’s embrace, the hush of the morning.
She let herself sink back into it, closing her eyes, slipping once more into the depths of sleep.
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