It all happened like a blur. One moment, Rayla was kneeling on the grass, her hands pressed against Asher’s wound as his blood seeped through her fingers. The next, she was in the back of an ambulance, the flashing lights and blaring sirens a chaotic backdrop to the numbness that had settled over her. She barely remembered the ride to the hospital, the frantic voices of the paramedics, or the way Scarlet had clung to her hand, trying to offer comfort. All she could think about was the way Asher’s eyes had locked onto hers, the way his voice had been so quiet, so calm, even as his life bled out onto the ground.
Now, she sat in the emergency waiting room, Asher’s jacket draped over her shoulders. It smelled like him—like cedar and something uniquely *him*—and the familiarity of it was both
