In a stunned haze, I open my eyes, trying to understand where I am or why my head is hurting so much.
Correction, I open only one eye because the other seems to be stuck under some sort of bandage. I touch my hand to it. An eye patch?
To my right, a monitor is beeping regularly and, on my left, Riven is slouched in an armchair, asleep.
I’m at the hospital.
Why? What happened? And why is Riven in the room with me? Where’s my family?
Some sort of sixth sense must signal to him that I’m awake because he jolts upright and blinks at me.
Then he smiles—a full, ten-million-megawatt smile.
“Hey,” he says, his voice still low and groggy with sleep. “You’re up.”
I repeat aloud all the questions I just asked myself. “Why am I in the hospital? What happened? Why are you in my room? Where’s my
