LILITH
He murmured her name in his sleep again.
It came out like a prayer, soft and slurred, tangled in breath and wine. “Natalia…”
I froze where I stood beside the bed, the towel still in my hands, dripping with the water I’d used to wipe his fevered brow. The room smelled of alcohol and crushed flowers, and the moonlight painted pale stripes across his bare shoulders.
Even unconscious, he reached for her.
Even in his dreams, he wanted someone else.
I forced a smile onto my lips and returned the towel to the basin. No matter. This was temporary. He’d drunk more than usual—grief and guilt mixing into something toxic—and I’d simply been there to catch him when he fell.
Natalia was gone.
That was all that mattered.
He could grieve her now, if he needed to. Mourn what might have been
