Talon.
I groan and collapse back onto the mattress, wincing like my soul just flinched.
And that’s when I realize… I’m in bed.
The hospital bed.
Did Talon carry me here? He must have.
He’s sprawled across the bed next to mine, the same one Cassian was in when I woke up last night. Half his gear is gone. His hair is even more tousled than before, and his limbs are flung out like someone ragdolled him and left him there. One of his arms dangles off the bed, while the other is bent at a weird angle, hanging off the mattress like it forgot how elbows work.
I stare at him for a long moment, blinking through the fog of soreness and disbelief.
Then I see Nathaniel.
He’s sitting at the table.Thattable.
The one Talon and I had sex on.
Cassian’s in the kitchenette, holding a book.
And both of them are looking at me.
Nathaniel lifts a brow and his hands are white-knuckled around a mug he hasn’t sipped from. Cassian doesn’t say anything either, but the way his jaw tightens says everything for him.
There’s no hiding what happened. Not when I can barely sit up without wincing. Not with Talon half-naked and obviously wrecked. Not with the table.
That goddamn table.
I can see my scratch marks even from here. Long, jagged trails carved into the wood like made by an animal, not by me.
God.
I swallow hard, throat tight. My voice scrapes out rough, like it barely made it through the night.
“Morning.”
Nathaniel doesn’t move at first. He just watches me over the rim of his mug like he’s checking out some invisible lines on it. Then, slowly, he sets the mug down with a quiet click.
“You okay?” he asks.
Just that. No judgment. No edge. Just calm. Measured. Maddening.
But I catch it: the flicker in his eyes, the quick glance at my wrist. At the faint red mark where the strap had held me. His lips twitch. Not a smile. Something meaner. Darker.
I stay frozen in bed, unsure how to respond.
“I could, uh… use some coffee,” I manage.
Nathaniel nods.
Cassian’s leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, the book still in his hand. I meet his gaze.
“So… what are you guys doing?” I ask.
His stare is volcanic. Cold and burning all at once. He inhales slowly, then does something I don’t expect.
“Cover your ears, Skye,” he says.
