The Body Remembers

His hands started at my stomach, just resting there. Then they slid lower, deliberate, finding my pelvis and holding there—firm, grounding. The kind of touch that said you’re not floating away anymore. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, leaning back into him.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, the sun was already sharp by the time we reached the clearing. The air carried that heavy, wet heat that clung to everything—skin, clothes, thoughts. We were paired off this time, split between sectors. Forbes and I got Section C, closest to the treeline.

He handed me a clipboard without looking at me directly. “You good?”

My mouth tilted. “Little sore.”

He huffed, but there was the shadow of a smile behind it. “Occupational hazard.”