He moved closer, quietly brushing a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. Even now, unconscious, her jaw was tense, stubbornly holding onto dignity and strength. "Sorry about this, Cerys," he murmured softly, his voice edged with genuine regret. "You deserved better than my reckless decisions."
His gaze shifted to Lira, whose elegant face, though lined with exhaustion, still held the quiet dignity he'd come to expect from her. Even unconscious, her presence seemed graceful, refined, a stark contrast to their rough, makeshift refuge. The superficial wounds across her slender arms and shoulders were already beginning to dry, though the faint tremors of pain in her breathing showed the deeper toll she'd endured. Mikhailis knelt briefly beside her, carefully brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. His fingertips lingered gently, feeling the delicate warmth of her skin—a reminder of the humanity he was fighting to protect.
