The Only Anchor

He lays her on the cold med-bay table, his hands—one flesh, one steel—moving with a surgeon’s precision to bind her ribs. But his eyes are on hers, the winter in them thawing into a desperate, focused heat. When the last strap is secure, his palm presses flat over the bandages, over the life beneath, and he lowers his forehead to hers. The next thrust into her is not punishment, but a vow, a brutal, physical prayer that she is his only true north.