Page 112 of Fire and Silk
He blinks . Then again.
A soft groan escapes his throat, barely audible.
His fingers curl against my leg.
I let out a sob, hands cradling his face. I kiss his forehead, the cut near his temple, the corner of his mouth.
He squints, winces.
“What… happened?”
I exhale hard, pressing my cheek to his.
“We were betrayed,” I whisper. “But you’re okay. You’re okay.”
I lean forward and press my lips softly to his mouth. He doesn’t move at first. Then he kisses me back—slow, faint. His lips part just slightly before I draw away and guide his weight toward the wall.
He exhales shakily, settling into the corner. His head rests against the metal with a low thud.
“It’ll be fine,” he mutters, almost slurred, but he tries to smile.
I wipe under my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Are you dizzy? Does anything hurt?”
He groans softly, blinking again. “Just my head.”
My hand moves to the side of his scalp. There’s a patch of blood above his ear. The skin’s split. Not wide, but enough to clot over. My hand shakes as I trace the edge of it. His brow furrows when I press hard.
“Does that hurt?” I whisper.
He catches my wrist gently and brings my hand down. “I’m alright. It’s not deep.”
I nod quickly, wiping my face again, trying to stop the shaking. His eyes drift to his legs.
“My shoe,” he says, voice rough. “Left one.”
I blink, confused, but reach for it. His foot lifts slightly as I tug at the laces, then pull the shoe off.
Something rattles.
Inside the insole, wedged just beneath the fabric, is a slim metal blade. I slide it out. A razor—small, sharpened, taped at one end for grip.
I stare at it. My hands are trembling again.
“Use it,” he says. “The ropes.”
I move fast, crawling to his back. His arms are pinned behind him, wrists swollen and blue around the bindings.
I slide the blade under the rope and press down.
It doesn’t give.
The cords are thick. Twisted.
I press harder. The edge scrapes along the fibers. I have to saw—back and forth—slow, uneven strokes. My hand slips and the blade slices across my palm.
I hiss but don’t stop.
“Keep going,” he says gently, leaning forward so the ropes pull tighter against the blade. “You’re doing fine.”
