He put his hands over hers, wrapped around the bars they’d watched each other through for so long. His hands were rough, but warm, his touch was delicate. What a waste, that things had to go this way. She lifted her head to see his forehead resting on the far side of the bars, his eyes closed, and breathing soft and steady. There was no fear in him that she could see, only the concern he wore across his furrowed brow. Had he come to care for her?