(LANCE)
The private hospital wing smelled of antiseptic, blood, and the faint metallic tang of gunpowder that still clung to our skin. Machines beeped steadily beside my bed, tracking every heartbeat, every breath that burned through the stitched wounds in my chest and side. The cliff ledge felt like a lifetime ago, but the sunrise bloodbath was still painted across my body in bruises, cuts, and the memory of Elena’s blood on Ghost’s hands.
Eliona sat on the edge of the bed, her hospital gown loose over her marked skin. The fresh bites and bruises from the long night stood out in the sterile light, a map of every place I had claimed her while the world tried to tear us apart. She looked exhausted, beautiful, and unbreakable.
I reached for her with my good arm, fingers brushing her thigh
