I woke in a hospital bed three days later.
My body was wrapped in bandages. The acid burns had been treated but would scar permanently. My wrists were stitched and splinted. Pain medication dulled the worst of it, but I could still feel everything underneath—the ghost of Catherine's torture imprinted on every nerve.
Albert was in the bed beside me. Still unconscious. The doctors said he had coded twice during transport. His hands were in casts. His back was a patchwork of skin grafts. But he was breathing.
And Grace slept in a bassinet between us, monitored constantly but recovering. The smoke inhalation had caused damage, but the doctors were optimistic.
We were alive. All three of us.
"Eva." Knox entered quietly. "You are awake."
"Catherine?" I asked immediately.
"Critical conditi
