The hospital lights were stark against the midnight sky as Lucas pulled up to the emergency entrance. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale from the tension. Luna sat silently beside him, her head leaning against the window. She could still feel the ghost of the killer's hands on her neck, and her breathing hadn’t yet returned to normal.
Lucas parked the car and immediately got out, rushing to her side to open the door. “Come on,” he said, his voice firm but edged with concern. “Let’s get you checked out.”
“I’m fine,” Luna protested, her voice hoarse. “Really, Lucas. It’s just a few scratches—”
“Fine?” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. He gestured to the faint bruising already forming around her neck. “You call that fine? You could’ve—” He stopped himself,
