Yorkshire, 1940

“Sable,” she heard a voice say. “Wake up.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes. Julien knelt in front of her in her room. She was still in her robe from the night before, lying atop her bed sheets. She hurriedly sat up, feeling her face flush as she tugged her robe tighter over her nightgown.

“What happened?” she asked, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers snagged a couple knots. “What time is it?”

“It’s noon or so,” Julien said. “You didn’t show up to breakfast. When I asked her, Birdie said you had a rough night.” Sable nodded, thinking back on Crow’s bloodied brow and wide, panicked eyes.

“Thanks,” Sable said, standing. Her legs wobbled underneath her. “Sorry. I’ll get dressed and head over.” Julien nodded and left, closing her door behind him to give her some privacy.

She hurriedly got changed and tied her hair back in a neat bun, practically jogging from her room in the nurses’ quarters across the courtyard to the sanatorium. The night before was a blur; she must have wandered back here with Birdie in the early hours of the morning and collapsed into bed.

She went immediately upstairs to solitary confinement and was surprised to find a guard posted outside Crow’s room. He stepped into her path as she went for the door.

“You can’t go in there, miss,” the guard said. Sable scowled at him.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Let me in.” She shoved him and he stumbled back a little, but didn’t stop her from yanking open the door to Crow’s room.

Anger swelled in her chest. He was still bound in the straightjacket and ankle straps securing him to the bed, and the blood on his temple was dried and brown, staining his hair. The room was permeated with a faintly metallic stench, the blood on the wall crusting on the chipped paint.

“Christ’s sake,” she muttered in the doorway. She turned back to the guard. “Did no one think to bandage him up?” she demanded. “Get me a first aid kit!” The guard hesitated for a second, but at her glower, he left to a nearby supply closet. He returned a moment later and she snatched the first aid kit from him, rushing to Crow’s side.

His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep. His brows were knit like they never were when she saw him asleep, and his breathing was shallow and uneven. The worst sight, however, were the reddish-purple burns on his temples where the electroshock kit had left its mark. Sable frowned as she unbuckled the straps restraining his ankles.

Slowly Crow opened his eyes and peered at her. The dark circles under his eyes were stark against his pale skin. She breathed his name as she pulled him upright by his shoulders. He stared at his legs as she unhooked the straps restraining him, freeing his arms from the straightjacket. She pulled it from his torso and tossed it aside. His hands fell into his lap; the knuckles on his right hand were bloody from where he’d broken last night’s guard’s nose.

Sable sat on the edge of the bed across from him, the first aid kit between them. He tensed when she took his bloodied hand. Feeling her throat close, Sable wiped the blood from his hand with a piece of gauze she dunked in hydrogen peroxide. He sucked in a breath as it stung, and she looked up to meet his eyes.

The blue eyes that normally seemed sharp and focused to Sable were dull and dark. The dried blood made his hair stiff, and it was matted to his head with sweat. She lifted another piece of gauze with hydrogen peroxide and gently dabbed at the wound on his temple. He winced. Her other hand went to the nape of his neck and his hair curled around her fingers. His eyes drifted closed as he leaned his head into her touch.

Sable frowned, breathing a sigh. Slowly the blood cleared from his temple, revealing an angry scrape above his left brow. She softly touched his hair, where the blood was long dried on the blond locks where they dipped down over his forehead.

“Come on,” Sable whispered. She took his hands in hers, standing up and pulling him to his feet. “Let me help you.” She tucked the first aid kit under her arm as she walked Crow out of his room, ignoring the protests from the guard at the door. She was too aware of Crow’s hand dwarfing hers, his skin warm and calloused. His bare feet padded along the hardwood, shaky on his legs. She led him to the washroom where she’d washed his hair and shaved his beard all those weeks ago.

“Here,” she said, gesturing toward the countertop that held the row of small sinks. Crow leaned against the counter as she cranked on the faucet in the sink beside him. Wordlessly, she motioned for him to lean over the sink, and he bent over the bowl, his hands on the counter, while she wet her fingers and ran them through his hair.

Working the crusted waves in her fingers, she coaxed the dried blood from his hair. It dripped into the bowl and ran along the bridge of his nose. He raised a hand, shaking a little, and combed his hair with his long, slender fingers. She caught his fingers in her hand. His eyes were glassy, like he wasn’t really seeing the countertop where he was looking.

“I’m so sorry, Crow,” Sable whispered after a moment. “I hate that this happened to you.” She held his hand between them, her free hand smoothing his hair from his eyes. The wet strands stayed slicked back as her hand slid to the nape of his neck. He sighed softly under her touch, his breaths shuddering.

“I should have been able to do something,” she said quietly.

Crow shook his head, his eyebrows smoothing slightly. His gaze found hers for a moment before he closed his eyes and lowered his head. Her pulse swelled in her chest and she felt her face flush. He pressed his forehead to the curve of her neck where it angled to connect with her shoulder. His hair dripped water onto the shoulder of her nurse’s frock.

The hand on the nape of his neck snaked around to wrap him in a hug. Her other hand released his and wound around his broad shoulders. Crow’s arms did not move to encircle her, but he lifted one hand to brush his knuckles lightly against her waist.

Two weeks passed and Crow was cataleptic. The reddish burn marks on his temples faded and his scrapes and scratches healed. But even Sable could not coax a single word from him, and he hardly looked her in the eye. When he did meet her gaze, his eyes were glassy and unfocused. Sable reduced her time with him to a minimum; every interaction with him left her heart feeling heavy, and she couldn’t bear to see him reduced to the silent, sullen man he had been months before. The dark smudges under his eyes returned, deep purple like bruises.