( Dante's Pov)
I stood there, leaning against the doorway, my eyes fixed on her fragile, bruised form. The room was dim, the only light spilling in from the half-open blinds, slanting in thin, pale strips across her bed. Alina. God, she looked small. Too small beneath those sterile hospital sheets, her hair splayed out over the pillow like a messy halo.
Her hair was a mess, a wild, tangled waterfall of caramel and gold and red-brown. The kind of color that looked richer under the harsh fluorescent lights, every strand catching the light like it was woven from molten copper. And her skin... Jesus. Dark bruises stained her jawline, blooming like ugly flowers along her cheek, her temple, her collarbone. A thin cut split her bottom lip, the dried blood still stark against her pale skin. Her
