Damian hadn't left the plastic chair beside Elena's hospital bed in eleven hours, and by the time Sofia arrived at dawn with coffee neither of them had asked for, she could tell just by looking at him that something in her brother had shifted in a way eleven hours of worry alone didn't fully explain.
"You look terrible," she said, setting the coffee down on the rolling table beside him.
"Thank you."
"When did you last eat?"
"I don't remember." He didn't look away from Elena, still unconscious, her arm set and casted, a shallow line of stitches at her hairline the only visible reminder of how much worse the night could have gone. "The doctor said the concussion's mild. The arm will heal clean. She was lucky."
"You keep saying that like it makes you feel better, and you keep saying it l
