Ravyn sat beside Octavian’s bed, her fingers curled gently around his limp hand. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only proof he was still here—still fighting. Willow sat on the other side, leaning forward with both elbows on the mattress, her forehead pressed against the back of Octavian’s hand like she was praying.
He’d been unconscious for almost an hour.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and blood. A harsh combination that made Ravyn’s stomach tighten every time she breathed it in. Willow hadn’t stopped talking since they brought him in.
“Tay, you—i***t,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. You’re my best friend. My favorite person. You can’t just—” she paused to sniff, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hand
