My eyelids feel like they’re glued shut, but I drag them up anyway.
The ceiling is a bland off-white rectangle, tiles and fluorescent lighting humming. There’s a monitor beeping somewhere near my head. The air smells like antiseptic and over-brewed coffee.
Hospital, my brain supplies sluggishly.
My hand is heavy and warm…because it’s sitting inside someone else’s.
I turn my head, and there he is.
Bran’s slumped in the chair at my bedside like he’s been poured into it. His hair is a mess, his jaw shadowed, his gray T-shirt wrinkled and smudged. There’s a bruise blossoming along his shoulder where it peeks out from the collar—angry purple against pale skin.
He’s holding my hand like it’s the only thing tying him to the planet.
I try to say something, but it comes out as a croak.
He reaches with his free hand and lifts the cup, placing the straw against my mouth.
“Small sips,” he orders. “You had enough chemicals in you for one day.”
I drink, long, thirsty pulls. The water is cool and glorious, making my throat burn and then loosen.
Pulling back, I lick my lips.
“What…happened?” I manage.
His face tightens.
“You don’t remember?” he asks.
“I remember the bathroom,” I say slowly. “I…was washing my hands. The door moved.” My stomach lurches. “Henry.”
His grip on my hand tightens. He doesn’t affirm anything. He doesn’t have to.
It’s written all over him.
“Chloroform?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Something like it,” he says. “Paramedics think so. He had you out in seconds.”
A ghost of sensation ripples over me—cloth against my mouth, his breath in my ear, the slick slide toward nothing.
I shudder.
Bran’s thumb starts rubbing circles on the back of my hand like he can scrub the memory out.
“He tried to take you out the back,” he says quietly. “I saw him in the alley. He was almost to the street.”
Panic spikes, sharp and hot.
“Did he—” I start, then choke on it. “Did he…hurt anybody? Here? Any kids?”
“No,” he says immediately. “No. It was just you he wanted. He didn’t touch anyone else.”
Relief and horror tangle.
“Did you hit him?” I ask. “Please tell me you at least broke a tooth.”
His mouth twists.
