Nora's POV
James takes the machete from my grip, wiping the blade clean against the grass to remove chunks of rotted flesh and sticky blood. He sets it down on the wooden porch railing with careful precision.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" His voice carries concern as he settles beside me on the steps.
"I don't think so." I examine myself, grimacing at the gore coating my clothes. "God, I'm disgusting." I find a clean patch on my leggings to wipe my hands. "These were my absolute favorite pair too."
James reaches over, brushing my hair back gently before plucking a piece of decomposing flesh from my braid and flicking it away. The tender gesture sends warmth through my chest despite everything.
