The recovery hallway had gone quiet.
But it wasn’t peace—it was tension in disguise. The kind of silence that presses against your skin and waits for someone to c***k.
Aria stood just outside Sienna’s room, arms crossed over her chest, her scrubs still damp and clinging. Her fingers were raw from repeated scrubbing, her breath shallow from the effort she’d just come down from. But the worst ache wasn’t in her body.
It was in her chest.
A steady, dull throb behind her ribs. A burn left by effort unacknowledged, by care left unseen.
Through the window, Sienna lay still beneath layers of white sheets, her chest rising with mechanical rhythm. Machines beeped softly beside her. Nurses moved with quiet precision.
But it wasn’t the room that made Aria feel exposed. It was the space just beh
