"Silver?"
This time, her voice wasn't sharp. It was quieter. Uncertain in a way she refused to acknowledge. The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy. Pressing. Like the air itself had thickened around her lungs, refusing to let her breathe too freely.
She took a step closer.
She stopped beside him. For a moment, she simply looked at him. Silver lay half-turned among the scattered shadows, his hair spilling across the floor like spilled moonlight that had forgotten how to shine.
Too still. Still in a way that didn't belong to him.
Her fingers lifted before she realized it. Hovered. Paused. Then finally, reluctantly, she brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. The touch was gentle. Careful. Almost unconscious.
And the instant she did—her breath caught.
