Hospital rooms were strange things.
Too white. Too quiet. Too bright in the wrong places and too dim in others. They always carried this strange smell — sterile, cold, like nothing warm or comforting had ever lived there.
But Jace's presence in the room made everything else fade.
He hadn't moved from my side since he walked in. Not even for a second. I could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the exhaustion around his eyes, the faint tremor in his fingers when he brushed my cheek.
He'd barely made it in the door before he held me like he was afraid I'd disappear if he blinked too long.
Now he was sitting in the small hospital chair beside my bed, refusing to relax, refusing to even take off his coat. His thumb stroked the back of my hand slowly, as if trying to ground us both.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked quietly.
"Mostly." I shifted a little. "The bed is weird."
His jaw tightened. "I'll have them bring extra pillows."
"Jace… no." I squeezed his hand. "I'm okay."
