Daniel’s pov
The air in Maya’s rehab room felt heavy, thick with the scent of antiseptic and something else, something cloying and stale that clung to places of difficult healing.
I walked in, trying to shake off the restless energy that had kept me pacing since leaving Sienna's apartment. The memory of her eyes, wide with shock and desire, still burned behind mine.
Maya sat on the edge of her bed, hunched over, her usually bright eyes dull, tired. A therapist, a stern-faced woman with kind eyes, was just finishing up, packing away some papers and a small journal.
"Alright, Maya," she announced, her voice gentle but firm. "That's enough for today. You were honest. Good work."
Maya only grunted. She didn't look at me. Her hands, thin and pale, fidgeted in her lap. The tension in her
