But I climb into the narrow bed anyway.
The vinyl mattress protests under my weight, creaking in the silence. Emmaleen doesn't wake. Doesn't stir. She's that far under—body shut down, mind gone somewhere safe where tonight can't reach her.
I shift carefully, positioning myself behind her. My chest against her back. My arm sliding beneath her neck, the other draping over her waist.
I hold her shivering body.
Not claiming. Not taking. Just... holding.
Her body is warm despite the dungeon's chill. The transparent nightgown does nothing—I feel every curve, every line of her against me. The welts raised on her thighs press against my legs. Evidence of Giovanni's loss of control, written in her skin.
I pull her closer. Slowly. Gently.
She moves in her sleep.
A small shift at first—her shoulders drawing back, seeking more contact. Then her whole body turns, instinctive, unconscious. She burrows into my chest like she's searching for something. Safety, maybe. Or warmth. Or just the promise that someone will hold her without hurting her.
Her face presses against my throat. Her breath ghosts across my skin, soft and rhythmic.
I kiss the top of her head. Once. Twice. My lips barely touching her hair, careful not to wake her but unable to stop myself from offering this small comfort.
My hand moves of its own accord—palm sliding down her spine, over the curve of her lower back, then up again. Caressing. Soothing. The way you'd gentle a frightened animal.
She responds.
Even asleep, even deep in whatever protective fog her mind has wrapped around itself, she responds. Her body archesslightly into the touch. A soft sound escapes her throat—not quite a moan, not quite a sigh. Something between.
Her hand moves. Finds my chest. Fingers curling against my skin, tips digging into me like she's afraid I'll leave.
I won't.
Not yet.
I keep stroking her back, her shoulder, her arm. Slow, deliberate touches that sayyou're safewithout words. That promiseI won't hurt youeven though we both know that's a lie I'll have to break eventually.
Because Giovanni will require it.
And she'll accept it because she thinks that's what love looks like.
"Emmaleen," I whisper against her hair.
She doesn't wake. Just makes that sound again, pressing closer.
"Emmaleen." A little louder. A little firmer.
Her breathing changes. The steady rhythm stuttering, catching. Rising toward consciousness.
I feel the exact moment she surfaces. Her body goes rigid in my arms. Muscles tensing, awareness flooding back.
"Shh." My hand on her back, grounding. "You're safe."
She doesn't pull away. Doesn't bolt. Just stays frozen, processing.
"Do you know who I am?" I ask quietly.
Silence. Then?—
"Yes."