Zoe's POV
Brandon staggered off the bed, rubbing his eyes endlessly, like sleep had clung to him and refused to let go.
I stayed still, propped slightly against the headboard, watching him from behind. I'd been with him the entire night—awake when he drifted in and out of shallow sleep, awake when he groaned softly like something inside him was fighting rest, awake when his breathing finally evened out and his body surrendered.
He hadn't been okay when he came back.
That was obvious the moment he walked through the door.
He'd looked pale. Hollow. Like someone who had stared straight at something ugly and was still seeing it when he blinked. He barely spoke. Just kicked off his shoes, sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together as if he was holding himself together by sheer force.
He looked like someone who had seen a ghost.
Or worse—someone who had discovered the living could hurt more than the dead.
