May sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her fingers twisted together, knuckles white from the pressure. She stared at Damien's face, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was shallow but steady. His face was pale, more pale than she'd ever seen it.
She wanted to touch him. To shake him awake. To make sure he was really okay.
But she didn't.
She just sat there, watching. Waiting.
The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed down on your ears and made every small sound feel too loud. The hum of the fridge downstairs. Her own breathing. She hated it.
She looked at the clock on the nightstand. How long had it been since Lucian left? Twenty minutes? Thirty? It felt like hours, maybe it was.
She reached out slowly, her hand hov
