into her touch. He was warm, too warm. They never touched like this. He never thought he wanted them to. “You make no sense to me,” she said. Her palm was on his face, then, her fingers curled behind his ear. Long, thin fingers with tendons and veins always standing at attention. Knuckles so dry the skin was peeling in places. “All that has happened to you would make another person hard and hopeless,” she said. “So how . . . how are you even possible?” He closed his eyes. Aching. “Still, Akos, this is a war.” She brought her forehead to his. Her fingers were firm, fitted to his bones. “A war
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