“If there was another way—”
“But there isn’t,” I snapped, then softened. “Not right now. Not with your leg the way it is.”
Finn’s scowl was instant. “My leg is fine.”
“Liar,” I said, not unkindly.
His jaw clenched. “It is. And you shouldn’t be risking yourself for me. Not after what happened last time.”
I looked at him—really looked at him. At the way he held himself stiff, pretending the pain didn’t eat him alive. At the dark shadows beneath his eyes that said more than words ever could.
“You’d do it for me,” I said softly.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. We both knew the truth of it.
“Elle, you are all I have. I can’t be alone out here.” He whispered finally.
“You think I don’t feel the same?”
My voice was rough, low, like the words were dredged up from somewhere deeper. I didn’t have to look at him to feel the truth in them, but I still stepped closer.
I wrapped my arms around him, just to fight off the cold that clung to the ruined walls of our hideout. In my arms, his skin felt too warm, like a fever burning beneath the surface. I pulled back after a moment, my fingers lightly grazing his forehead, testing him.
He flinched away sharply, as if the touch burned him.
“Stop,” he said, his voice tight, strained.
I frowned, heart tightening. “Are you feeling okay?”
He gave a low growl, his frustration biting at the edges of his words. “I’m fine. Stop babying me.”
“I’m not babying you, Finn,” I insisted, but my voice was softer than I meant it to be, soft enough to carry the weight of everything I didn’t know how to say.
He pushed me away with an unsteady force, like he was trying to reclaim some kind of control. Standing, he swayed, his face contorting with a mix of pain and stubbornness. I took a quietbreath, stealing a moment to study him more closely in the dim light.
His skin was too pale—almost ghostly—and beneath the ragged hem of his pants, his leg was swollen, far worse than before.
“Let me see your leg, Finn,” I urged, the words slipping out like a plea.
His refusal was immediate, raw. “No.”
He hobbled toward one of the rotting desk chairs in the corner, attempting to sit, but his movements were sluggish, like he couldn’t fully trust his own body. His face twisted with a grimace, and I could see the fight in him—the way he was trying so hard to hold himself together, to avoid showing the pain.
But I wasn’t fooled.
“Finn.” The quiet command slipped from my lips, but he wouldn’t look at me. He slouched further into the chair, his leg stretched awkwardly, clearly causing him more discomfort than he let on.
For a moment, all I could do was stare at him, aching in a way that had nothing to do with hunger or fatigue.
“Show me right now, or I swear to god, I will make you,” I snapped, my patience finally wearing thin.
Finn’s glare could’ve cut glass, but he said nothing, his lips pressed tight, jaw clenched.
After a long, agonizing pause, he growled, his voice low and dangerous, “Fine.”
I didn’t hesitate. I moved quickly, my fingers trembling with frustration and fear as I tugged at the hem of his pants.
“Be gentle,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, but I didn’t stop.
