KAEL
I didn't look away.
She stood there under the stream, quiet. Water hit her skin and ran down in rivulets, trailing over the bruises on her wrists, her arms, her neck. The chain had left marks—dark, red, tender. A line of dried blood mixed with the water and dripped from her elbow. And still, she didn't cry.
I waited for it. Expected it. Hell, I wanted it. Not because I enjoyed seeing her break—I definitely did. But because crying would've meant she was still there. Still human. Still processing what the hell just happened. Instead, she stood like a statue—soaked, silent, staring at the tiled wall like it might give her answers.
She flinched when I stepped in behind her.
I didn't ask for permission. I didn't need to. She wasn't in any state to answer, anyway. And I wasn't going to leave her alone in here when she was barely present. People faint in showers. People slip. And if she hit her head and bled out because I gave her space, I'd never forgive myself.
