Ruby's POV
Roman was quiet after the fight. Too quiet.
He didn't complain about the bruises, the slow way he moved, or how he occasionally winced when standing too fast. He just… watched me.
Every time I brought him water or pressed a cool cloth to his shoulder, every time I adjusted his bandage or touched his arm longer than necessary—he watched me.
Not like a patient. Like a man memorising his reason to stay alive.
He didn't ask for help, but I gave it.
Just like he once nursed me when I was broken, lost, confused, and afraid of what I'd become. Back then, his hands had steadied me without demanding anything in return. So now, I gave him the same.
It felt… right.
The pack had settled for now. No threats. No chaos. No one knocking on the door screaming for blood. Just silence and this fragile space we were building together, like walking on a glass bridge in bare feet.
