Caspian
She is asleep.
I stand by the window at first, my back half-turned to the bed, watching the city lights flicker beyond the glass while the steady rhythm of machines fills the silence behind me. The hospital room smells sterile, clean in a way that feels wrong for someone like her, like she doesn’t belong in a place that feels so empty but neither does she belong where she came from.
My jaw tightens and I glance over my shoulder at her.
She hasn’t moved since Zavian stepped out a few minutes ago, her body curled slightly under the sheets, one hand resting near the IV line, the other loosely fisted like she’s holding onto something even in her sleep.
She looks small, smaller than she should. She's so fragile and I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this.
I push away from the wi
