MEGAN'S POV
The hospital room is too quiet.
I lie here staring at the ceiling tiles, counting the tiny imperfections in the white panels above me as if they hold the answers to questions I can't stop asking myself.
Who sent those rogues?
The question circles my mind like a vulture, relentless and suffocating.
I adjust myself slightly on the bed, wincing as the movement strains the bandages wrapped around my leg.
The little bruises covering my body throb dully, but doctors say I'm healing well, that I'm lucky it wasn't worse.
Lucky.
Right.
Because having my home burned to the ground and my children traumatized is the definition of lucky.
I close my eyes, trying to calm the chaos churning inside me, but it's impossible.
Someone tried to kill us.
Not just me.
My children.
Maver
