Emma's POV
Warmth is the first thing.
Before thought. Before pain. Before any of the rest of it.
Just warmth, steady and constant and real, flowing into my hand like sunlight through glass.
I open my eyes.
I'm face-down on the softest surface I've ever been on—deep sheets, a mattress that feels nothing like my narrow guard's bed. The room is dim. Late afternoon light cuts through heavy curtains in thin gold lines. Every breath moves my back and my back reports this information in great, sustained detail.
I turn my head.
Ethan is in the chair beside the bed, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his face drawn and tired in a way I've never seen on him. His eyes are closed. He's still dressed, like he never changed, like he simply sat down here and didn't move.
And his hand is
