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Chapter 47

[Cordelia]

Someone is holding my hand.

Opening my eyes just a crack, I see Atlas’ blond hair glowing in the nearby lamplight. He looks softer than he usually does with his hair askew and his shirt unbuttoned with cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He is always so crisply dressed, so cold and distant in the way he presents himself to the world–especially to me. Yet at this moment as he sits here holding my hand he looks soft, gentle, and warm.

I gasp, my chest pounding as I moan in agony. My entire body feels abused and tender. 

“Cordelia,” he whispers, hearing me gasp, sitting up a bit str

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