"You need to eat more than that."
Owen stood in the doorway of our room, watching me push scrambled eggs around my plate. Three weeks had passed since I woke up from the coma, but my appetite still had not returned. Everything tasted like ash in my mouth.
"I am eating," I argued weakly, forcing myself to swallow a small bite. My stomach turned but I kept it down. "See?"
He walked over and sat beside me on the bed. His amber eyes studied my face with the kind of concern that made me want to scream and cry at the same time. I knew I looked terrible. The mirror showed me that truth every morning. Hollow cheeks. Dark circles under my eyes. Scars that were fading too slowly even with my healing abilities.
"Mary, you have lost fifteen pounds since Montana. Dr. Whitford says you need to gain
