The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of machines monitoring Ethan's vitals. Scarlett sat in a chair beside his bed, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands covering her face. The events of the past twenty-four hours had left her emotionally drained.
Her father had called multiple times, demanding to know what had happened, but Scarlett hadn't brought herself to speak to him yet. The weight of everything—the ambush, Ethan's injury, and the realization that their lives were in constant danger—was crushing her.
Ethan stirred in the hospital bed, breaking her train of thought. Scarlett immediately sat up, her eyes scanning his face. His usually sharp features were softened by fatigue, his skin pale from blood loss, but she felt a rush of relief when his eyes flutter
