Ryley's dull gaze fell to his lap.
'Clyde… he must be there… yeah… he must be…'
The thought repeated itself in his head as he clutched the fur blanket tighter around him, trying to calm the storm rising in his chest.
He was just about to push himself up—his body still weak and trembling—when the canvas rustled. Clyde stepped inside.
"Hey."
The Alpha's voice was soft, steady, like warmth returning after a long cold. He crossed the tent in a few brisk strides, pulling a small stool to Ryley's side. A porcelain cup of steaming chamomile tea followed, placed carefully on the nightstand.
Without hesitation, Clyde's hand reached out, his thumb brushing Ryley's pale cheek in a gesture too natural to be rehearsed."Still hurting somewhere?"
Ryley swallowed and shook his head, a faint, fragile smile ghosting over his lips."You're here," he whispered. "I'm cured now."
He lifted Clyde's palm and pressed a weak kiss against it—barely there, but enough to make the Alpha pause.
