The prophecy that morning weakened him more than usual. Ill and exhausted, he slept while I carried him in my arms, cradled him like a child for the duration of the day's travels.
That night, he repaid me by marking my cheek and my chest and my legs, with cruel smirks and cold hisses.
When we had exhausted ourselves, he sat beside me on our blankets, healing the wounds he had inflicted one by one, and I could not help but speak. "I know well how strong you are, Sydney. Just because I've seen you at your weakest, it doesn't mean you need to try so hard to prove your strength."
His eyes, still haunted by dark circles and the Dark's chaos, met mine with another smirk. "If you think so, Hardin, you do not know me at all."