Chapter 63

• Ken laid half-propped by the pillows. His body was thinner than it used to be, fragile even—but his presence still held that quiet intensity. Cynthia moved about the room like a careful whisper, her steps gentle, her hands steady even though her heart was not. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth, checked the saline flow, and rearranged his blankets with the familiarity of someone who had done this a hundred times.
• But this time, his eyes were open as he watched her.
• Ken's gaze followed her like a question he couldn't ask. His mind was blank in some places broken in others. Yet there was something about her that nagged at the edges of his consciousness. The slope of her shoulders. The scent of her hair. The softness in her voice. It stirred something he couldn't name.