The steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the first thing Camilla heard as she slowly drifted back to consciousness. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, stark and clinical. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as if weighed down by exhaustion itself.
Her fingers twitched, and a warmth enveloped them. It was familiar, comforting. She turned her head slightly, blinking as her vision adjusted to the dim lighting of the hospital room. Ethan was there, slumped in the chair beside her bed, his large hand wrapped around hers. His head rested against their joined hands, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.
She swallowed hard. Even in sleep, there was tension in the lines of his face, a weariness that had nothing to do with physical wounds. He had always been strong—un
