And Duke did. First by sliding his hands under her shirt, letting his fingers skate lightly across her skin.

He could feel the new scars there, raised ridges detailing the years she'd been gone on her side. He wasn't sure if he wanted to flinch away or linger, ignore them or trace them out, memorize her new skin. He hovered hesitantly for a moment, then pressed his whole palm over the remains of the stab wound. As though the warmth of his skin could finish healing it.