Gome

lt miles away, like waves pulling back from a distant shore. My eyeli

l smell that meant something was wrong. I forced my eyes open. The white ceiling light was a phy

ack of my hand to an IV bag hanging beside the bed. A dull, hollow ache pulsed deep in my abdo

st my cheek. A spreading pool of crimson. Emilio's face, not concerned, but annoyed. And

g against the soft fabric of the hospital gown. The emptiness was real.

le

and closing over mine. Her face was a mess of tear tracks and

ds scraped my throat on their way out, a

head, her grip on my hand tightening painfully. "I'm so sorry

hospital-it all faded into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The hollowness in my bell

a small water stain in the corner, and felt nothing at all. It was a terrif

ow, vicious growl. Her grief had curdled int

ed voices, a sound like the click of a camera shutter. Ayla's head

back rigid. "The reporters are

d the blinds shut, plunging the room into dim,

shrunk to the size of this bed, to

um. She checked my vitals, her movements efficient and detached. She adjus

rest," she said softly.

ve my arm, check my pulse, w

was a mask of professional sympathy. He recited my condition in a calm, clinical tone, explainin

red-rimmed. "Wh

eight hours," he said. "To ensu

e, thin and reedy, stopped him. I hadn't realized I was going to speak. The que

y as they wer

s my hu