"I have to go," I said.
"Call me later. And Calla?" Mireya's expression softened. "Make a decision you really want."
"Since when did everyone around me become a therapist?"
"Since you started making choices that clearly need professional intervention." She smiled. "Go save lives. We'll talk later."
The screen went dark. I sat on the cot for another moment, Mireya's words echoing in my head.
Fear doesn't get to make your decisions. Only you get to do that.
Easy for her to say. She hadn't spent five years running from a truth too painful to face. She didn't know what it felt like to love someone so much that the loss of them had hollowed you out, left you walking through life like a ghost wearing human skin.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe I'd been so focused on protecting myself from more pain that I'd forgotten how to live without it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CALLA
PRESENT DAY
The district hospitaladministrator found us in the hallway outside the ICU, wringing her hands like she was delivering a terminal diagnosis.
"I'm so sorry," she said for the third time. "With the mass casualty overwhelming our system, we scrambled to find accommodations for visiting staff. The best we could do was a single room at the Riverside Inn, two blocks from here."
"One room?" I asked.
"With one bed." She winced. "I know it's not ideal. Everything else is booked solid. Families of patients, displaced residents from the accident, medical staff from the other hospitals that sent teams. We did our best on short notice."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Cassian appeared beside me before I could speak.
"It's fine," he said. "We're both adults. We can manage one night."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to demand they find literally any other option, even if it meant sleeping in the on-call room again. But I'd been awake for nearly forty hours. My feet throbbed. My back screamed. My eyes burned from too many hours underharsh lights. I didn't have the energy to fight about sleeping arrangements.
"Fine," I said. "Thank you for arranging it."
The administrator handed over a key card with visible relief and disappeared before we could change our minds.
Cassian and I walked to the hotel in silence. The night air was cold, biting through my thin jacket, but after eighteen hours in the stale hospital atmosphere, it felt almost pleasant. The streets were quiet at this hour, the city sleeping through what remained of the night.
The Riverside Inn was exactly as promised. Modest. Clean. Forgettable. The kind of place that existed for weary travelers who needed a bed and nothing else. The lobby was empty except for a half-asleep clerk who barely glanced at us as we passed.
Our room was on the third floor. I swiped the key card and pushed open the door, and my stomach dropped.
One queen bed. A small bathroom. A chair by the window that looked like it had been designed for decoration rather than comfort. The room was tiny, the walls too close, the air too warm.
"I'll take the chair," Cassian said immediately.
"Don't be ridiculous. That thing would destroy your back."
"I've slept in worse places."
"So have I. But we don't have to." I dropped my bag on the floor and turned to face him. "The bed's big enough for both of us. We were married for two years, Cassian. I think we can share a mattress for a few hours without it being weird."
Except it was already weird. The room felt too small with both of us in it, the air too thick with everything we weren't saying. I could feel his presence behind me like a physical force, magnetic and unsettling.
"I'm going to shower," I said, retreating to the bathroom before he could respond.
