Anna drew in a slow breath and turned toward him. Daniel lay beside her, sleep claiming him again, his lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. Without thinking, her hand lifted and gently caressed his face, her thumb brushing over the tension that never quite left his brow.
At her touch, he shifted closer, instinctively seeking warmth, his body relaxing as if he recognized safety even in sleep. He settled against her again, breathing evening out.
But Anna didn't pull away.
Her chest ached as she watched him, really watched him—not the powerful man the world feared, but the boy who had lost everything and learned to survive by becoming untouchable.
He had grown up without parents to guide him, without comfort to soften the edges of loss. No wonder his hatred had grown sharp and deliberate. No wonder mercy had never been an option.
And yet, she couldn't hate him.
Not when she could see the scars beneath the control.
