Late morning light filtered through the half-open blinds, softening the hospital room without warming it. The air still smelled faintly of antiseptic and plastic, a scent that clung no matter how many windows were cracked.
Scarlet sat upright in the bed, her hair pulled back poorly, stray strands already slipping loose. Her arm rested stiffly at her side, immobilized in a heavy cast that made every movement deliberate. She looked smaller than she used to. Not fragile, just contained, like someone bracing against impact that had already passed.
A duffel bag sat at her feet. Someone else had packed it for her.
Henry stood near the window with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, rocking slightly on his heels as if motion might keep him from thinking too hard. Quinn perched on the edg
