But because he feared what waited in the silence between breaths.
Each night, he fought it. Forced himself to stay awake. Counted the hours. Watched the candle burn down to nothing.
But exhaustion always won.
And she always came.
Not with violence.
Not with cruelty.
But with something far worse—
Tenderness.
“You’re learning,” she whispered one night, her hand resting over his heart again.
His voice cracked. “Stop.”
“I can’t.”
“Then why me?”
For the first time—
She hesitated.
“Because you didn’t run.”
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