Lucien and I sat side by side on the stiff hospital couch, just a few feet from Sarah’s bed. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and overworked air-conditioning, a sterile stillness that made every monitor beep feel louder, sharper. Lucien had somehow secured her a private room once she was stabilized—no small feat, considering the crushing cost of healthcare in America, especially in a town like Lakeview. It wasn’t a gesture I took lightly. The last thing I wanted was to involve the insurance company, which would mean informing Sarah’s family why she was here—drugged, and now barely conscious—when all we had meant to do was dance.
Her family could never know. They’d bury her in guilt before they even thought of sympathy. Sarah was their only child, and despite being separated for mor
