Lucas Reyes had fought his way out of death before.
But waking up in a hospital bed, his body stitched together, was never a good sign.
Pain wrapped around him like a vice, his side burning with every shallow breath.
The sound of steady beeping from the monitors filled the room, grounding him in reality.
He was alive.
Barely.
He turned his head, wincing at the dull ache in his muscles.
And then—he saw her.
Isla Calloway.
Sitting beside him.
Silent.
Watching.
Her gray eyes were unreadable, but her clenched jaw gave her away.
She was pissed.
Lucas swallowed, his throat dry.
"Calloway," he rasped.
Her posture remained rigid, her gaze locked on him like she was measuring his worth.
"You almost died," she said flatly.
Lucas tried to smirk.
"Yeah, well," he murmured, voice hoa
