When Vincent returned, the quiet of the room met him like a held breath. Nicola offered him a small nod and slipped silently out the door, leaving only the rustle of her skirts behind. Prudence seated upright on the bed, wrapped in stillness.
Vincent had gone back to ensure any evidence was not amiss and bathed swiftly upon returning, scrubbing away every trace of blood and violence. His shirt was hastily buttoned, hair slightly damp, the faintest trail of steam still clinging to his skin. He had worn the first thing his hand had found in the wardrobe.
Prudence did not necessarily see that.
His steps were measured as he crossed the room, and his voice softened deliberately when he spoke. "Are you feeling any better?"
She nodded wordlessly, the motion small, delicate. He approached, careful to keep the air between them undisturbed, unwilling to impose with a touch she had not invited today.
