PREVIEW
... ng>(a plain one this time) warming my skin. The cool, clinical tip of a thermometer rests under my tongue.
Deniz leans over me, his brow furrowed in concentration as he peels the backing from a cold patch.
His touch is a whisper against my temple—careful, gentle, as if applying a bandage to something far more fragile than skin.
"Now, let’s check your temperature," he murmurs, his voice a low, steady hum in the quiet room.
I stare up at him, my expression ...
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