I was still holding her wrist, my fingers warm around her delicate skin, and as I looked at her, truly looked, my breath hitched. Meera… She looked so innocent, so strikingly beautiful, and yet there was something fragile in the way she held herself. Something stirred deep within me, a rush of need and longing that I hadn’t felt in years—not like this. I knew what it was, and yet I couldn’t voice it too soon; saying the wrong thing, revealing too much too fast, could ruin everything.

I let out a low sigh and rested my forehead against the palm of her hand. “I missed you,” I murmured, my voice rougher than I intended.