The hospital at night felt like a world suspended in time.
Dim lights glowed along the hallway, nurses whispered as they passed, and the scent of disinfectant clung heavily to the air. Outside, chaos churned reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing like lightning, military officers trying to control the swelling crowd as news of the General’s attack spread like wildfire.
But inside Damien Cole’s private room, everything was still.
Too still.
He lay awake, staring blankly at the untouched IV bag hanging beside him. His body ached with every breath; the wound at his side throbbed in a slow, rhythmic pulse that matched the steady beep of the heart monitor beside him. But physical pain was the least of his concerns.
Because every time he blinked, he saw her.
Leah.
The look in her
