Thunder rumbled again, and Lucy's expression tightened, another small whimper escaping her lips. I refolded the cloth to find a cooler side, carefully wiping new beads of sweat from her temples and cheeks.
"I'm here, Lucy," I said quietly, my words thick with emotion. "You're going to be fine. I promise."
Promises weren't something I made lightly. They required certainty, and nothing in this world was certain. Even with precise planning and perfect calculations, a stunt could end in death. Yet, right now, I spoke with absolute conviction, because the alternative—Lucy not being fine—wasn’t acceptable.
Beyond the hospital walls, the storm continued its assault, lightning flashing and thunder growling. For a fleeting moment, I debated picking her up and carrying her all the way outside, letting the chilly rain soak through to her bones and fight the fever. Instead, I kept whispering the quickly warming washcloth over her pale skin.
Each second a nurse didn’t arrive, threatened the tenuous threads of my control. I pressed the call button one more time.
"Fight this, Lucy," I whispered, the words meant as much for myself as for her. "I know you can. You're the strongest person I've ever met."
As the room’s door finally swung inward and two nurses entered, I made a silent vow: Nothing would take her from me. Not infection, not fever, not any force on this earth. Even if death tried to steal her, I’d find a way to strike him down with his own goddamn scythe.
Lucy would live. I would make sure of it.
50
LUCY & ASHER
{One week later}
LUCY.
Seven days in a hospital bed might as well be a century.
My body had just begun to strengthen, pushed by manual labor and surviving DemonX. Now, every muscle seemed to have atrophied. I was back at Brightfield, so weak I often couldn’t get to the bathroom and had to use the bedside chair. This feeling—of wasting away—was one I thought I’d left behind forever. It was terrifying to think I could slip back into the past so easily. One accident and I was Lucy the patient again.
The white walls of this room almost felt worse than my room at Brightfield though. Here, the door wasn’t a double airlock that required a key card. Here, a person could easily open the door and stride out. Not me though. I needed support just to move three feet over to a chair, so I could sit by the window.
That’s where I was now.
Staring through the glass, feeling waves of bitter nostalgia as I looked down at a small hospital garden below and I recalleda different garden I’d stared at for years. A garden with flowers I’d always wanted to smell. A garden with benches I’d always wanted to sit on to enjoy the sunshine. Was it only the one time I’d walked down the stone pathway between blooms? Yes… Only one time, decked out in a protective suit, a barrier still between me and the scent of lavender and roses.
I sat there for an hour, lamenting what I’d missed in my past life, and what I was missing right now. I was grateful when a nurse arrived and broke through my spiraling grief.
“Think you’re up for a proper walk today, Lucy?” The nurse was slight framed, not much bigger than me, but I’d learned long ago not to judge a person’s strength by their stature.
“I’m up for anything that gets me out of this room,” I quipped, gripping the chair arms and trying to stand, but then immediately sitting back down. Pushing myself up pulled at stitches and felt awful.
The nurse almost laughed. “I like the enthusiasm, but let’s still try and take it easy.”
Ten minutes later—with a second gown layered over the first, flipped backwards so there was no risk of giving anyone a free show—we were very slowly shuffling down the hallway. Every step hurt. But every step was also one foot nearer to getting free of this place. I tried to go a little faster as we passed a third door, but the nurse’s hand on my elbow encouraged me to slow.
"Take your time, Ms. Graves,” she reminded gently. “Healing is a marathon, not a race.”
“Is it still called a marathon if it’s lasted over two decades?” I asked sullenly, hating that I couldn’t sprint down the hall. Logically, I knew I’d never had the lung capacity to sprint down a hall, but…
That’s when it dawned on me that Ihadsprinted very recently. I’d run as fast and hard as I could, lungs burning, trying to get to Nitro.
The thought made me smile. At the time, I hadn’t even had time to realize how amazing it felt—to move like that, wind pushing through my hair, legs and arms pumping.
Then I frowned. How unfair was it that my first time running ended up with me back in a damn hospital?
“A very long marathon,” the nurse finally said, as if she’d needed time to think.
“I deserve the world’s biggest medal when I cross the finish line.” I tried to smile at her, but an ache shot through my middle, forcing me to suck in a breath.
Left foot, right foot. Breathe. Repeat.The network of healing tissue across my abdomen pulled and protested with each movement. The doctors all said that I was lucky the tent collapse hadn't done worse damage. If the pole had punctured a few inches off in any direction, I’d probably have died on the way to the emergency room.Lucky.The word tasted strange on my tongue.
