The quiet sanctuary of my chambers offered little comfort as my thoughts remained fixated on the day's events. I touched the small bandage on my cheek, the memory of Kaelen's gentle fingers still haunting my skin.
"Gentle," I whispered to myself, testing the word like an unfamiliar language when applied to Kaelen Nightwing. The same hands that had nearly beaten Logan to death had treated my wound with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years.
I paced across my bedroom, trying to make sense of his behavior. The fierce rage in his eyes when he saw Logan strike me. The careful way he'd pressed the ice pack to my cheek. The intensity in his gaze when he promised no one would touch me again.
"You hate me," I'd said to him.
He hadn't denied it. He'd simply finished tending my wound and stepped away, the moment of connection broken.
