Leah
I slept for almost two days after the fire.
Not the natural sleep of a body healing. The other kind. The parasite-deep unconsciousness that swallowed me whole and held me under, surfacing only in fragments. Darien’s voice. The cool press of a damp cloth on my forehead. Maren’s hands checking my pulse. The smell of smoke that clung to Darien’s skin even after he’d washed it away because he washed quickly so that he was back by my side.
When I finally woke for real, the late afternoon light was gold against the walls and Darien was sitting in the chair beside the bed, watching me. Like I might disappear if he blinked.
“There she is,” he said softly. “My sleeping beauty.”
“How long?”
“Almost two days.” He moved to the edge of the bed and took my hand. “The east wing is rebuilt. Tom
