I lower my head and brace one hand against the tile, letting the heat pour over the back of my neck, down my spine, across muscles that have been locked tight for days.
For a few moments, I let myself feel nothing but water.
No maps.
No phone calls.
No dead men wearing old names.
No threat against my family.
Just heat.
Steam.
The sound of water hitting tile.
Then arms slide around my waist, and I freeze.
Amelia.
I know the shape of her hands as they settle against my stomach. I know the softness of her body pressing against my back. I know the way she fits against me as if she has been missing from that exact place all night.
Her cheek rests between my shoulder blades.
Her breath touches my skin.
I close my eyes.
Every hard, dangerous thing inside me goes still.
Not gone…Never gone.
But still.
Her arms tighten around me, and for one suspended moment, I don’t move. I don’t speak. I barely breathe.
I simply let her hold me.
Let her remind my body that it’s allowed to come home, even when my mind is still standing in the middle of a war.
Her lips brush my back.
Then again.
My hand covers hers where it rests against my stomach.
She turns her palm upward and threads our fingers together beneath the fall of water.
The gesture is small, but it nearly breaks me.
After a long moment, she slips around me.
Water runs over her hair, darkening it, making it cling to her shoulders. Her eyes lift to mine, quiet and steady.
No questions.
No hurt.
