18
Saera carried the scrolls back to Jin's room, dumping them on a second writing desk he'd had brought up for her. Her desire to be productive had faded away. She sat on the couch and looked around her, noticing how familiar the room had become. Jin's sleeping clothes were folded neatly at the foot of the bed, his desk neat and uncluttered. He had some sketchbooks and scrolls arranged neatly on a shelf, his things simple and for the most part, neat. Saera began to nibble at one of her nails, an old habit that only reappeared in times of stress. If Jin were to be injured… or worse, if he were to die… she would lose all that she had quickly become accustomed to, and the future she'd envisioned would be shattered. She would be alone, a thought that had never bothered her before.
