Riven had been sweating buckets. His fever gradually came down but it was an arduous process.
Soren hadn't moved from his side.
Not even once.
He did not let anyone touch him. Not even Eli, despite knowing how skilled the man was. Only when Eli needed to check vitals did Soren step back, reluctantly, and only if Ronan stood nearby to supervise.
Soren gently dabbed the cool cloth along Riven's collarbone, wiping away the sweat pooling at his throat. His white shirt clung to him, drenched, and Soren cursed under his breath.
How could someone so bright, so reckless, so full of life—be reduced to this?
It brought back memories he did not wish to remember. No, Riven will not leave him, he would not allow himself to be abandoned again.
Just wake up. I will do whatever you want... He whispered.
The cloth ran along Riven's brow once more. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows over his pale skin. Then—just as Soren dipped the cloth back into the basin—he saw it.
A twitch.
