Don’t read if themes of death triggers you.
I'm holding Daniel's hand when Marcus walks in.
11:58 p.m. The ward is so quiet I can hear my own breathing, the soft beep of machines, the buzz of that one flickering light above the door that maintenance still hasn't fixed.
Daniel's hand is warm in mine. But it's only warm because I tucked it under the heated blanket an hour ago. When I squeeze his fingers, nothing squeezes back. It's been eighty-three days.
Marcus closes the door. That same soft click I know by heart now. He doesn't say anything at first. Just stands there holding a folded piece of paper, and I watch him trying to figure out how to start.
"Elena." He crouches in front of my chair. Our knees almost touch. "The repeat EEG came back."
I don't move. Don't breathe.
"It's flat," h
