Eventually, Ashe pulled back just enough to look at his face.
She did not step away completely; the very thought of letting go of him, even for a fraction of a second, felt entirely unbearable. Her bare, freezing hands still gripped the heavy, weathered front of his winter jacket, her knuckles stark white against the dark fabric. The tears were drying cold on her cheeks in the biting wind, and her brilliant red eyes remained wet, heavily rimmed with the deep, bruising exhaustion of the past year. There was a smear of dark blood at the corner of her mouth that she still hadn't noticed, too entirely consumed by the unbelievable reality of the boy standing in front of her.
She swallowed hard, a ragged, painful breath shuddering through her chest. She was trying desperately to piece her shattered composure back together, but her heart was still beating wildly against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"I am angry at you," she said.
