Her fingers curled in the fabric over his chest. “You carry that like a punishment.”
“Perhaps it is.” His voice roughened. “The dead do not rise to tell you that you did enough. You live with what remains.”
“And what remains now?”
“You.”
The word held.
Her hand trembled. She searched his face and found no mask left to hide behind.
“You are different here,” she said. “Inside these walls. I cannot decide whether it frightens me or steadies me.”
“Bessie allows little room for lies.”
“And I do.”
“You never have.”
A line appeared between her brows. “You have lied to me often.”
“Yes.” He did not retreat from it. “Because I did not trust myself. Or what I wanted.”
“What do you want?” she whispered. “Say it plainly.”
Henry’s tune shifted to one Marcus had hummed on restless nights. Comfort. Memory.
Marcus brushed a curl from Lila’s cheek. Her breath hitched. Her lashes fell.
“I want you alive,” he said. “I want you safe. I want you angry with me for the rest of our days if that is the price of keeping you breathing.”
Her mouth quivered. “That cannot be all.”
“It isn’t.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw. He stepped closer until her skirts brushed his boots, her hands flat against his chest.
“The rest,” she said.
His throat worked. He bent his head slowly, stopping when her breath brushed his lips.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
The words landed between them like a vow neither of them had planned to speak.
Her eyes opened. Longing. Fear. Pride. A fragile hope she would never name.
“You shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
Her chin tipped the smallest distance. Invitation and defiance together.
He lowered his mouth toward hers.
The air shifted.
Lila’s gaze flickered past his shoulder. Confusion sparked. Her fingers spasmed against his coat.
