“Lyra, what do you want to check on a male thigh?” Rafi asked, his brows furrowed, confusion thick in his voice. “Just leave me alone.”
The hospital room was too quiet. My heart thumped louder than the beeping machine beside the bed.
Why were they all acting like I was being irrational? Why were they trying to stop me?
I clenched my fists, my breath shaky, my chest heavy.
What are they hiding from me?
My eyes burned as I glared at Lucian’s covered thigh. “Why are they not letting me check? What’s there in checking a male’s thigh?”
My voice cracked with rage and pain. I didn’t wait for anyone anymore. I grabbed his trouser and pulled it down—not completely, just enough.
Just enough to see what I needed.
There it was.
A scar. Thin, pale. A scar I had memorized in flashes. A scar fro
