Josie
I'd lost count of how many times I'd asked the maids if Thorne was awake. Maybe five times. Maybe ten. It didn't matter. The answer was always the same—no, he's still resting. Every time they said it, I felt something inside me twist tighter, like a thread pulled to the breaking point.
Now I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the clock on the wall, my foot tapping restlessly against the rug. It had been almost twenty-four hours since the attack, since the blood and the shouting, since Thorne's hand went limp in mine before the doctor saved him. He was supposed to be fine now. The doctor had said he'd be fine. Then why hadn't he woken up yet?
A soft knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts. My heart leapt—maybe it was good news, maybe Thorne had finally opened his eyes—
But when the door opened, it wasn't one of the maids. It was one of the guards.
"Luna," he said with a slight bow. "The seamstress has arrived."
