We’d barely made it past the door before her hands were on my chest, silk brushing against skin, mouths locked like we were trying to forget the weight of the world. I didn’t want to stop. I never did when she touched me like that — when she let herself touch me like that. Fingers tangled in my hair, nails dragging down my back, the kind of kiss that made the dungeon vanish for a while.

But then—

Time folded forward. Now, she wouldn’t even look at me.

She sat across the room, stiff and quiet, eyes somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far. I knew that look — the one she wore when she was pulling away.

I had brought it up again. The revolution. Escape. The fire we’d once lit together that now burned only in my chest.

“I’m still here,” I had said, “still bleeding for a war we both started.”

She didn’t argue. That made it worse. She just shut down. And I knew what came next. She was going to kick me out again — back to the chains, the cold. The silence.

My throat tightened. Desperation twisted under my ribs, mean and messy, so I did something reckless.

I clawed open a scar on my forearm — a small one, nothing deep — but enough to draw blood. Enough for her to see it.

“Can you... just bandage it?” I asked, quietly, like it wasn’t begging.

She didn’t move.

Gods, what was I doing? Pathetic. She didn’t owe me softness anymore. Not when I kept pressing on wounds that hadn’t healed. I swallowed hard, shame burning up my throat, but I couldn’t let her shut me out again. Not tonight.

I crossed the room in two steps and pulled her gently into my lap, arms wrapping around her waist like the world would split open if I let go.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. But in my head: Please. Just let me stay. Just a little longer.

I leaned my forehead against her shoulder, voice low, trembling just enough to feel real.

“Hey... shhh,” I murmured, trying to coax her back to me. “I didn’t mean to push. I just— I don’t want to be down there again tonight. Not tonight.”

My fingers trailed up her spine slowly, searching for the soft places she still let me touch. “C’mon, sweetheart... you always take care of me, remember?” I whispered, lips brushing against her neck, trying to tease, to soothe, anything. “Don’t go cold on me now.”

But she didn’t lean in. She didn’t melt. And my chest tightened like a fist was closing around my lungs.

I reached down, brushing my thumb against her hand, then took her fingers and pressed them gently against my own — right over the wedding ring I still wore like armor.

“Still here,” I said quietly. “We’re still here. You and me.”

Her silence was unbearable. I felt it rising in my throat — panic, hot and sharp.

I forced a smile that didn’t fit. Tried again. Softer this time.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just... stay. Just don’t send me back. Please.”

I kept touching the ring. Her ring. My ring. Ours. The last piece of the world we built. The only thing they never took.

And still, she didn’t move. So I kept cooing her name under my breath like it was a prayer I didn’t believe in anymore.