ARYA

I helped Daxton into a black shirt, sliding it gently over his feverish skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and though the colour had started to return to his face, he was still far from steady.

I brushed his hair away from his forehead, my fingers lingering for a few seconds. He leaned into my touch, just slightly. Then he caught himself and straightened.

"You should rest," I said softly, afraid my voice might crack if I spoke louder. "Postpone the ...