I stayed until the steady rise and fall of her chest became the only rhythm that made sense. Machines hummed beside her, indifferent, constant. I counted the beeps, one by one, until I could breathe without shattering.
When I finally straightened, the pain hit — a deep, twisting burn that flared beneath the bandages around my side. I ignored it. The grief was sealed away, entombed under something colder and far more dangerous.
Fury.
The antiseptic air burned in my lungs as I left the room. Blood—mine, hers, who knew anymore—clung to my clothes. The hall lights were too bright; they made the world tilt for a moment before I forced it back into focus.
Cameron was waiting just outside the door. Gray stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp.
"The security detail is confirmed?" I demanded, my voice a low, steady rumble that contained no residue of the broken man who had knelt moments before.
