“It’s okay,” he murmured.
Then he looked at the girl and deliberately softened his expression.
“Yes,” he said gently. “You can sit.”
Relief flickered across her face—so fast it was almost invisible. Her eyes loosened for just a second before she carefully lowered herself into the chair across from him. She moved slowly, favoring one leg, and winced when the brace shifted the wrong way.
As she tugged at her sleeve, Lucas noticed the marks.
Bruises.
Faded yellow at the edges. Overlapping. Too evenly placed. The kind that came from fingers, not falls. Old enough to be healing. New enough to still tell a story.
Continue reading…
