“Did you see him? The man who brought that girl in—gorgeous. Never left her side.”
“And that other one? Torn up bad. Looked like a rogue attack. Poor thing.”
My fingers clenched around the IV line until I yanked it free.
I knew who they were talking about.
I staggered into the corridor, ignoring the pain that split my shoulder open again. And there they were. Kael. Elowen.
He was holding her hand. Stroking her hair. Whispering softly like she was something fragile and holy.
I turned away before either of them noticed me and walked out into the night, the cold biting harder than the wounds on my skin.
The next morning, Kael came to my room. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, his face unreadable, eyes shadowed. Guilt? No. Not guilt. Pity.
I said nothing. I didn’t trust my voice not to break—or to kill.
Then my phone rang. My father’s number lit up the screen like a curse.
“You will attend the art banquet tonight,” he ordered. “Elowen’s exhibit. The council will be present.”
“No.” The word fell flat. I hadn’t painted in years. Not since Elowen destroyed that part of me.