The ride back to the Obsidian Hotel was different from the ride to the Pits. There was no tension, no fear of the unknown. There was only the heavy, exhaustion-filled silence of survivors.
Ethan sat with his head leaned back against the seat, his eyes closed. The adrenaline of the fight was fading, and the reality of the damage was setting in. His chest was a roadmap of bruising, turning jagged shades of purple and black. A nasty gash on his shoulder, where Ryan’s claws had found purchase, was sluggishly bleeding onto the leather seat.
Emily sat beside him, her hand resting on his knee. She didn't care about the blood staining her cream dress. She just watched the rise and fall of his chest, needing the visual confirmation that he was still breathing.
"You are staring again," Ethan murm
