Nathaniel's POV
As I lay on my side of the bed, I couldn't help but glance at Camila, who was sitting cross-legged, sketching something in a small notebook. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, and she seemed completely absorbed in whatever she was drawing.
She looked peaceful when she wasn't on edge, and it was… strange. I wasn't used to feeling this protective, this curious about someone.
"Are you always this quiet when you're not plotting something?" I couldn't help but tease.
Camila glanced at me, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not always plotting."
"Right. You're just naturally devious."
She rolled her eyes, but I saw the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "You're one to talk."
Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I couldn't shake the image of her in the garden, holding that rose. There was something oddly soft about her, even when she tried to hide it.
"Why did you help me last night?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
