Malcolm tightens the bandage around her neck, fingers steady as he wraps the cloth and pulls it firm against the shallow cut. The pressure stings, then settles into a dull heat.
He ties it off cleanly and smooths the edge with his thumb.
Iyisha sits on the edge of the bed, palms resting against sheets that feel too soft, too smooth for a world like this. The room is modern. Clean lines. Pale walls.
Furniture that looks expensive and untouched. It makes her feel out of place, like dirt tracked into something preserved.
She watches his hands as he works, then lifts her eyes to his face. The beard has grown in thick along his jaw, darker than before, sharpening his mouth and making him look harder than he already is. It suits him. Makes him look meaner. Bolder.
Her hand rises without permission.
She touches his jaw.
He stills, just slightly.
