“If the Orders offer me support, then I need it,” I rasped. “I have nothing else.” And there was no hesitation, no pause, as he stepped closer and said, “You have me.” My chest hurt. I wanted to smooth the desperate wrinkle between his eyebrows. I wanted to still the quivering muscle in his throat that betrayed the intensity of his anxiety. I wanted to take the kiss that I had left behind last night. And most of all—more than anything, anything—I wanted to say yes. But this was not about me. And he knew that, too. I could see it in the anguish in his face: that we both understood that what he
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GRAHHHHHH
