This isn’t just a fainting spell.
It’s poison.
And if it’s the same stuff Anton took, she only has minutes.
“Hey,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to hers. “No. Don’t you dare.”
Her breathing stutters.
Panic claws up my throat, raw and unmanageable. “Rose,” I say, louder now. “Stay with me. Please.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “For… everything.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I slap her lightly to keep her awake. “Rose. Focus. What did you take?”
“Don’t you… remember?” She smiles weakly. “You… taught me…”
A memory flashes into my head. A late night in the library. A botany book.
Belladonna.
The world narrows to the sound of my own heartbeat as I clutch her closer, terror eclipsing everything else.
“Rose.” I cradle her face. “Rose, don’t go.”
Her head lolls weakly against my arm.
And then her eyes roll back.
23
ROSE
Idrift awake. Not all at once, not with panic, but in pieces.
The first thing I register is the steady beep of a machine somewhere near my head. The second is the smell—clean, sharp, unmistakably hospital. The third is the ache. Everywhere, but distant, like it belongs to someone else.
I blink.
White ceiling. Too bright. Too real.
“Hey.”
The voice is right next to me.
I turn my head, carefully, and there he is. Matteo. Sitting in a chair pulled too close to the bed, like he refused to give the space a chance to breathe. His hand is wrapped around mine, tight enough that I know he’s been afraid to let go.
For a second, I just stare at him.
“I'm alive,” I say, because it feels important to confirm.
“I wouldn't have accepted anything less.”
Memory rushes back in jagged flashes—white fabric, Anton’s mouth, the taste of poison, the floor rushing up.
My fingers tighten reflexively around his.
“What happened?” I whisper.
