THE NEXT MORNING
ISABELLA
I knew the time without looking because the world felt wrong in that very specific way, it only does at six in the morning, too quiet, too pale, like reality hadn't finished loading yet. As I woke up, I saw the white ceiling. Hospital smell, the faint beep beep of a monitor that felt oddly comforting, like proof I was still anchored to something solid.
Then I felt warmth, my fingers were tangled with someone else's. Slowly, carefully, I turned my head, and noticed that Zavier was sitting beside the bed and not looming. Not dramatic. Elbows resting on the mattress, one hand wrapped around mine like he had been holding it long enough to forget it wasn't always his right. Copper hair slightly messy, eyes soft with exhaustion and something dangerously close to relief. He was watching me like I was real.
"Oh." I breathed.
