Your throat tightened. You couldn’t lift your gaze to meet his, couldn’t bear the storm waiting there. Your eyes stayed fixed on the lantern’s glow. Guilt pressed down on you like lead.

He noticed.

And it cut him deeper than any blade.

She’s afraid of me, the thought hissed, cold and venomous. Afraid not of your captors, not of the desert, but of him—your husband. The realization hollowed him out.

His voice cracked as he spoke, lower, closer. “Love, look at me.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t.

Kyle sank down onto the cot beside you, running a hand over his face. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. Finally, he muttered, “To hell with this.” He turned to the guard standing outside the flap. “She stays with me tonight. Same tent. My orders.”

The guard hesitated but obeyed. Kyle shut the flap himself, sealing them off from the camp. He sat back down beside you, shoulders hunched.