Pain.
That was the first thing Max Carter registered.
Not sharp. Not immediate. But dull, like a church bell ringing somewhere in the back of his skull. His head throbbed. His lips were cracked. His throat tasted like rust and regret. Every muscle felt heavier than stone.
The world was sterile white and humming—IV drips, heart monitors, antiseptic-laced air. He blinked once. The fluorescent ceiling came into view, followed by the rhythmic beep of a monitor and the cold tug of wires stuck to his chest.
A hospital.
He tried to sit up, but a bolt of pain shot down his neck and across his skull like lightning. He groaned and winced.
“Careful.”
The voice was quiet. Controlled.
Too familiar.
Grace.
Max turned his head toward her. She was sitting in a chair across the room, legs crossed
