“The police are here,” Jamal said quietly.

I stiffened. “What?”

“They won’t take you away,” he promised. “Alaric’s down there. He’s handling it. It’s going to be okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I gasped against his chest.

Because I was still standing in the wreckage of Blake’s room, bleeding from my palms, shivering in my own skin. And even with Jamal holding me up, even with Alaric covering for me downstairs, Blake was still gone.

“I know,” he said, rubbing my back. “But you’re not alone.”

He kept saying it.

Kept whispering it like a prayer.

It was the perfect lie.

* * *

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and coffee—a sharp, bitter scent that clung to the air. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered faintly, buzzing like a mosquito trapped in my skull. I sat on the small bed, my back pressed against stiff pillows, my hands resting in my lap, torn and trembling.

A nurse dabbed at the wounds with a cloth soaked in antiseptic, the sting so sharp it almost pulled me from my daze.

Almost.

I barely flinched.

Pain, at this point, was just another thing to endure.

She was kind, the nurse. A pretty woman in her forties with tired eyes and a voice so soft it reminded me of my mother’s—before everything changed.

“You’re lucky,” she murmured, carefully wrapping gauze around my palm. “It could’ve been worse. No deep lacerations. No need for stitches.” She glanced up at me, offering a small, knowing smile. “Bet that’ll be a relief to your mom.”

I swallowed, forcing down the bitterness rising in my throat. She didn’t even know I was here. Would she care if she did?

I mustered a small smile. “Yeah. Lucky.”

Her hands paused for just a second as she glanced up at me. She saw right through me but didn’t press. Instead, she kept working, methodically cleaning the gashes along my fingers.

Around me, the hospital buzzed with the kind of restless energy that only existed in places like this. The waiting room was loud, full of murmured conversations, phones ringing, the occasional groan of someone in pain. Down the hall, a man was arguing with a nurse about his pain meds, his voice edged with frustration.

I hated it here. I hated hospitals. They felt like places where people either left in pieces or didn’t leave at all.

The nurse finished her work and patted my shoulder gently. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit. Try to get some rest.”

She walked away, and I stared down at my hands. The gauze was clean and white now, but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way. Blood had a way of soaking through, just like grief, just like loss, just like everything I couldn’t fix.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, exhaling slowly.