The hospital lights hummed low as Damien stood outside Amara's room, watching her through the glass window. Her face was pale, bandaged, the bruises stark against her fair skin. An IV drip was fastened to her arm, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that, at least for now, reassured him she was alive. But it did little to ease the tightening in his chest.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to suppress the surge of guilt and helplessness. He should’ve been there sooner. If he had, maybe she wouldn’t be lying in that hospital bed, and maybe Sera wouldn’t still be out there—alone, scared, and without the person she trusted most.
“Sir.”
Luke’s voice broke into his thoughts. Damien turned to face his cousin, who handed him a thick folder. “The man we took down during the shootout
