Hours passed.
Dante waited outside. Pacing. Smoking. Drinking.
Atlas found him there. Bandaged. Stitched. His chest wrapped where Novalee had slashed him.
"How is she?" Atlas asked.
"The same. Worse. I don't know." Dante took a drink. "My mother's with her."
Atlas's expression darkened. "Isabella? You let Isabella—"
"I don't have a choice!" Dante snapped. "She's gone, Atlas. Completely gone. If anyone can bring her back, it's my mother."
"And what will she bring back?" Atlas's voice was hard. Angry. "Because it won't be Novalee. It'll be something else. Something broken and twisted and—"
"I know!" Dante threw his glass against the wall. It shattered. "I f*****g know, Atlas! But what else am I supposed to do? Let her stay like that? Let her die slowly in that bed?"
"Maybe that woul
