The hospital was all fluorescent light and antiseptic.
Surgery. Muscle damage. Clean entry, clean exit. No major arteries. Words floated past me, clinical and detached, like they belonged to someone else.
I woke up in recovery with a weight in my hand.
Mia, asleep in the chair beside my bed, fingers locked around mine like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.
Liam sat on my other side. Still. Watching me like he hadn’t moved since they brought me in.
“Hey.” His voice was rough. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot.”
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
“Fair.”
Mia stirred. When she realized I was awake, she broke.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry—he said you were hurt, he said there was a fire, he said you were dying and I didn’t think?—”
“Hey.” I tightened my grip on her hand despite the pull in my shoulder. “Look at me.”
She did. Eyes red. Terrified.
“This wasn’t your fault.”
“But you got shot?—”
“Because he chose to hurt people.” My voice stayed steady even when my body didn’t. “Not because of you.”
I drew her in, slow and careful, let her press against my uninjured side. She shook there, quiet now, worn out.
“You’re safe.”
I held her there until the words stopped shaking inside her.
She cried until there was nothing left. Then she slept, curled against me on the narrow hospital bed, her weight solid and grounding, proof that she was here. Alive.
I stayed awake.
Just breathing.
Making sure she did too.
Liam watched us. That same broken expression on his face, the one I’d seen in the clearing when he’d knelt beside me in the dirt.
I tilted my head, meeting his eyes.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Liam.”
He was quiet for a long moment. His hands were clasped between his knees, knuckles still raw and swollen, and he stared at them like they belonged to someone else.
“Mia saw me,” he finally said. “In the clearing. She saw me beat him. She saw me with my fist raised, ready to…” Heswallowed hard. “I almost killed him, Riley. I wanted to kill him. And she watched me do it.”
