In the dead of the night, Dante remained seated on his chair, listening to Ophelia's soft snores. She had drifted off to sleep in the midst of their conversation, and he was worried about moving her too soon.
Only when Ophelia shifted in the chair and groaned as though she was uncomfortable did Dante stand up to lift her.
"I'll apologise in the morning," Dante said as he slipped his hand under her thighs.
Dante carefully lifted Ophelia and took his time carrying her to his bed so he wouldn't wake her.
Now that she rested in his arms, Dante took notice of how small she was. Ophelia ate well at dinner, but she had more to go to be at what Dante considered to be a healthy weight. He thought of having her seen by a doctor, but Ophelia would surely protest. All she would think about now was her brother.
