(Evelina's POV—Cabin in the Forest—The Firelight Hour)
Rowan immediately reached for his discarded shirt—instinctual, defensive, and automatic.
His movements were stiff, sharp, and almost panicked. As if my eyes on his scars were more dangerous than the assassins that chased us.
He had the fabric halfway over his shoulders when I spoke.
Quietly.Coldly.Firm enough to freeze him mid-motion.
"Rowan."
He stopped.
I stepped closer, one hand lifting—hesitant, but steady enough to touch the air between us. "You don't disgust me."
He turned—slowly—as if unsure he heard correctly.
"…What?" His voice dipped, low and unsteady.
"The scars," I said, my tone more controlled than I felt. "They don't disgust me. They don't scare me. I'm not repulsed by you, Rowan."
His fingers loosened around the shirt. His breath stopped in his throat.
I held his gaze.Unwavering.Unflinching.
"So don't put on a wet shirt just to hide them."
