The room was eerily still. The air smelled of herbs and healing salves, mixed with the faint scent of Kendrick’s cologne lingering on his clothes.
The warm light of dusk filtered through the windows, casting soft, golden shadows against the walls.
I had no idea how long I’d been here—on this bed, cocooned in warmth and soft sheets. But I felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at me.
I felt safe.
And I realized, almost in disbelief, that it was because Kendrick was still here.
When my eyes fluttered open, I could barely make sense of the world around me. But there he was—sitting quietly in a low chair beside my bed, staring at me with an intensity I could never quite read. His eyes were tired, but his presence was a grounding force, filling the room with a quiet, protective energy.
“
