Chapter sixteen
The first thing I notice is the headache. It sits behind my eyes like a vice, each throb ricocheting down my spine. My throat tastes of iron, and when I lift a trembling hand, my fingers come away with a smear of dried blood from under my nose.
The second thing I notice is Bella.
She’s perched on the edge of my bed, knees tucked under her chin, green eyes rimmed red as if she’s been crying for hours. Her blonde hair is a tangle around her face. She grips the edge of the blanket like it’s the only thing holding her steady.
“Arty?” Her voice is so small it cleaves me in two.
I push myself upright, every muscle screaming with protest. The room is dim, curtains drawn tight, but I can still see the faint cracks spiderwebbing the sconces, the scorch marks up the carved wood
