EMBER’S POV

Knox doesn’t make me explain. He only comes back and sits on the edge of the tub and watches me with those exhausted, yet beautiful eyes while the steam fills the room.

I pull the shirt over my head and climb in.

The hot water meets my skin and I hiss because everything is tender and raw and bruised in places I haven’t finished cataloguing.

I pick up the cloth and start scrubbing. My neck first. Then my collarbone. Then my wrists where the silk left its marks.

Hard enough that the skin goes pink, then red, and the friction feels cleaner than the water, feels like progress,...