I woke with a start, my neck stiff from hours spent sleeping hunched over Kaelen's bed. Morning light streamed through the hospital wing's windows, casting golden patterns across his sleeping form.
My hand was still entwined with his. I studied our fingers, mine so much smaller than his large, calloused ones. It felt strange how natural it seemed, this connection between us.
Kaelen looked peaceful in sleep, the hard lines of his face softened. His chest rose and fell steadily, the bandages covering his wounds stark white against his tanned skin. The pack healer had done excellent work—already his color looked better than the deathly pallor of yesterday.
I reached out with my free hand, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead. The gesture was so intimate it startled me. When had I become comfortable touching him this way?
"Still here, I see."
