He stepped away from the window, meeting me halfway and wrapping his arms around me when I buried my face against his chest. I breathed in his scent, the faint tinge of metal still there—I wondered if it always would be—and his warmth soaking into my bare chest, even though the chain around his arm was cold against my back. I’d taken off my blood-soaked shirt and scrubbed it in the bathroom when we moved to the new room. My eyes squeezed shut when I heard him whisper within his cage, “Nearly healed.”
