Angel’s hand lingers. He palms her neck, thumb brushing against the curve of her jaw while his fingers thread themselves into the hair at her nape. He’s watching her intently, studying her as if he needs to rememorize her features even though he’s gone over them every single night since her lost her to the coma that stole her away into eternity in the wake of that thing’s madness.

“I trust you,” he tells her in turn. “I hope you never forget that, because I do. Even when it might seem like I don’t.”

It wasn’t Cordelia that he had distrusted. It was that otherworldly being that had crawled up inside her and used her up.