The clock on Luke’s bedside table ticked past three in the morning.
He hadn’t slept. Not a second.
The faint hum of the wind outside filled the silence of the room, mixing with the rhythmic sound of rain starting to patter against the balcony doors. He stared at the ceiling, his hand resting on his abdomen where the bandages were still wrapped tightly. His wound pulsed dully, not unbearable, but enough to remind him that he was still recovering.
He glanced at the digital clock again. 3:07 a.m.
Three hours.
Three check-ins missed.
Lila was never late. Not even once.
Luke pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp sting of pain from his side. The sheets fell away, revealing the faint traces of sweat along his neck. He reached for the radio on the nightstand, thumb pressing the transmitter
