The muscles beneath it locked.
His gaze dropped to the contact in warning, but he did not pull away.
“You are not alone in this,” she said. “Whether you like it or not, what happens here affects all of us.”
A controlled breath left him through his nose.
The tension did not ease, but he stopped trying to force her from the room.
Leena removed her hand and moved toward the bed.
The woman writhed beneath the sheets, sweat clinging to her skin, her breathing shallow and erratic. Pain marked every line of her face. The room felt thick with heat, tension, and something far older than either of them could yet name.
Rhen remained near the window, every muscle held rigid as he watched the transition punish them both.
Leena leaned over the bed and moved the damp strands of hair from the woman’s forehead. Her fingers paused near the bruises marring her skin—deep, old, and ugly.
“She was hurt before this,” Leena said.
It was not a question.
Rhen did not move.
“Yes.”
Leena studied the dark bloom of a bruise on the woman’s arm without touching it.
“She has already survived one kind of hell. Now she has to survive another.”
“I’ll stay until the transition settles,” Rhen said. His voice lowered. “After that, I’m not formally claiming her.”
Leena looked back at him.
“Sule told me.”
She straightened.
“A maker tether isn’t a formal claim, but it won’t disappear because you refuse to name it.”
Rhen’s jaw tightened.
“What happens when she wakes?” Leena asked. “Where does she go?”
“She’ll live long enough to answer my questions.”
“You didn’t drag her this far to let the transition kill her now. That would make everything you’ve done pointless.”
He stared at the woman as though she were both a threat and an obligation.
Leena let the silence settle before asking, “What is her name?”
Irritation cut briefly across his expression.
“Hell if I know.”
Leena accepted the answer without comment and returned her attention to the bed.
Rhen watched her in silence.
