I touch my fingers to his cheek again, ready for his reaction this time. There’s no flinch, though. No reaction at all. He stands there, still as a marble statue, while I trace my fingers over his features, one at a time. His strong jaw; his cheekbones; his nose; over each eyebrow. He huffs out a sharp breath when I gently stroke the scar on his chin, and I can’t tell if he’s laughing or irritated. I move on, using a featherlight touch to map out the shell of his ear.
