The memory loosened its grip slowly, like claws withdrawing from my chest.
For a moment, I lay frozen in the dim hush of her room, staring at the ceiling as though the past were etched into it. My heart still thundered with echoes of gunfire, her blood staining my hands all over again. My throat was dry, my body cold despite the warmth beside me.
But then I turned my head.
Lea was there.
Breathing. Alive.
Her hair spilled over the pillow like ink against white sheets, her lips parted in the soft rhythm of sleep. One arm curled under her head, the other rested lightly on the space between us, as though unconsciously reaching for me.
A choked breath escaped my lungs.
In the other life, she had slipped through my arms before I could beg her to stay. But here—here she was mine to hold.
Slowly, almost reverently, I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. My fingers trembled as they lingered near her skin. She stirred faintly, but didn't wake.
