Damon’s POV
Room 417 felt colder after she left.
The scent of her perfume lingered—soft, floral, achingly familiar—but the warmth of her hand was already fading from mine, like she had never been here at all.
I stared at the closed door, willing it to open again.
It didn’t.
My chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, every inhale tight, every exhale heavier than the last. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and whispered into the emptiness, my voice a low rasp even I barely recognized.
“I never stopped waiting for you…”
But she was already gone.
Across the room, the IV machine beeped with mechanical indifference, its green light blinking in a steady rhythm. The thin needle tugged at my arm when I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. My body ached from the accident—bruises, stit
