He closed the few steps between them, caught her face between his hands. His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, unraveling something inside her, like Mariam unpicking a row of stitches. “When I found you on the floor, I thought you were dead,” he said roughly. “And I realized what that would mean. If you were hurt, even a scratch, because of something I’d demanded you do—” He closed his eyes as if against the vision of something he could not bear.
