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I curled my fingers loosely around his. "Now I don't."

Something changed in his face and it wasn’t an ounce of triumph staring back at me. That would have sent me running. It was softer than that and somehow far more dangerous. His thumb moved over my knuckles.

Once.

"Robin."

There was that tone again. Low enough that my body heard it before my mind did.

I swallowed. "Don't."

His hand stopped immediately.

I shook my head.

"Not that."

His gaze sharpened.

"What, then?"

I should’ve had an answer. Instead, I became very interested in the line of his shoulder.

Guy's mouth curved. "You don't know."

"You're wounded. Don't become smug."

"I can apparently do both."

I pulled my hand away.

"Thank you," he said.

I frowned. "For what?"

"Not leaving me in the forest."

"Don't make me regret it."

There was no bite left in my words and we’d both heard it.

I banked the fire and made myself a bed of my cloak and a folded blanket on the floorboards, well away from him, with my bow within reach and my dagger under my shoulder, and told myself I was keeping watch.

"You're sleeping there?"

I looked over. Guy was watching me from the bed.

"Observant even near death."

"There's room."

My entire body went still. He seemed to realize what he'd said at precisely the same moment I did. His gaze shifted to the empty half of the mattress. Then back to me.

"I meant because the floor is cold."

"Of course."

"And you're shivering."