I swallowed roughly. “Why can’t I feel it?”
Anya didn’t pull away. She leaned closer instead, her forehead nearly brushing mine. One hand stayed in my hair. The other cradled my face as if she were afraid I might drift away if she let go.
“The damage was too severe,” she said softly. “You’d lost a lot of blood. They did everything they could, Desmond.”
Everything they could.I pinched my eyes shut while the ghost-pain pulsed, cruel and insistent. “My leg,” I whispered, voice suddenly thick with tears. “I can’t feel my leg.”
Anya’s fingers slid more firmly into my hair, anchoring me. Her thumb traced slow, grounding arcs along my cheekbone. “I’m here,” she said. “You’re alive. You’re not doing this alone.”
That was the moment it really landed.
Not just the loss.
But the fact that the first person to touch me after my body was permanentlychanged… was her.
ThatAnyawas the one holding my face, steadying my breathing, letting me lean into her like I wasallowedto be fragile. That life had split cleanly into before and after.
And her hands were bloodied in both.
Chapter 36
Anya
Ihadn’t realized how far I’d crossed the line until someone else named it with their presence.
The room had narrowed to Desmond’s face. To the warmth of his skin under my palm. To the familiar roughness of his beard against my thumb. To the way his breathing had started to slow when my fingers threaded through his hair, grounding him in something real, something solid.
I wasn’t thinking like a doctor. I was thinking… like a person who loved him.
Andthatthought landed like a physical blow.
The monitor beeped steadily. A machine to my left sighed. The rest of the world felt very far away.
“Dr. Volkov.” The voice, unfamiliar to me, cut through the bubble, and I froze. My hand was still on Desmond’s cheek. Still in his hair. Still doing exactly what Ineededto do — and exactly what it shouldn’t.
I turned slowly.
The charge nurse stood at the foot of the bed, posture relaxed, eyes sharp and kind in equal measure. A woman who had seen everyversion of this moment. A woman who knew the difference between care and something that blurred too far.
“I can take over for a bit,” the nurse said quietly. “You’ve been here all night. You should step out. Get some water.”
My first instinct was to argue, but I managed to swallow it. And yet… my fingers hesitated, traitorous, reluctant to let go. It felt wrong to stop touching him. Like removing my hands would undo something fragile I’djustmanaged to hold together.
But I forced myself to move.
Slowly.
My palm slid from his cheek, fingers untangled from his hair. The absence was immediate. Cold. Like someone had opened a door to winter inside my chest.
Desmond’s eyes opened, confused at first. Then sharp. “Don’t,” he said, with a rasp that nearly broke my heart.
Because the word wasn’t loud. It wasn’t commanding. It wasraw. And it hit me harder than if he’d shouted. My heart clenched as I leaned toward him on instinct, already halfway back across the line before my brain caught up.
“I’ll be right outside,” I whispered, bending closer so only he could hear. “I’m not leaving you. I promise.”
My hand found his again for just a second. Fingers closing around his. A small, stolen moment of contact IknewI shouldn’t take — and took it, anyway.
If anyone asked, I’d say it was for him.
