Page 195

I turn my head to find Ciaran sitting beside the bed, his eyes already on me. He’s wearing black sweats and a dark shirt with the sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms, one ankle hooked lazily over the opposite knee. A multi-slate glows at his wrist. His black hair has gone wild at some point, and shadows linger beneath his eyes that weren’t there before, as though he was watching for the exact moment I woke up.

Something shifts in his expression when I look back at him, gone again beneath that usual control. It looks dangerously close to relief.

“You scared the shit out of people, you know that?” he mutters. “Almost two days unconscious and then another twenty hours asleep.”

I try to answer, but my throat feels like sandpaper. The first attempt produces little more than a rasp.

Before I can even try sitting up, Ciaran is already moving.

“Wait.” He reaches for the glass on the nightstand, one hand sliding behind my shoulders when I wince. “Slowly.”

“I can⁠—”

“No, you can’t,” he cuts in before pushing the straw toward my mouth. “Drink.”

The water hurts going down, and by the time he finally takes the glass back, I’ve only managed a few careful mouthfuls.

He studies my face. “Better?”

I clear my throat cautiously. “A little.”

“Good.”

Ciaran adjusts the pillow behind me. He looks quietly pleased when I sink back against it. Only when he’s apparently satisfied does he settle back into the chair.

Neither of us speaks.

“Mouse?”

“Mm?”

“Do you remember being on a shuttle?”

I frown, trying to summon the memory. I vaguely recall bright lights flickering through my head, a medic hovering over me, and distant voices I can’t quite make out. And warm arms wrapped around me, anchoring me so I didn’t drift away.

“I think so.”

“You think?”

My brow furrows. “I remember... I remember somebody carrying me.”

Something crosses his eyes again, gone too quickly for me to identify. “Anything else?”

I hesitate. “Not much.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on me like the answer matters more than it should. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Something in his face tells me it does.

I stare down at the blankets, unwilling to summon those moments. “The concert.”

His jaw tightens. “Then?”

“I remember Sola.” My throat feels tight all over again. “She was really there, right? I didn’t dream that?”

Something moves behind his eyes. “No, mouse. You didn’t dream it.”

A shaky breath leaves me. “She came for me.”