“Don’t say that,” Gabriel said firmly. “Sabrina got stabbed. She needed us.”
“And I didn’t?” I snapped. “So if I’m not bleeding in front of you, I don’t matter?”
Before they could answer, the door creaked, and she entered.
Sabrina. Soft, oversized sweater, a slight limp. Pale face, lips quivering, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Picking a fight now, Elena?” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get hurt. None of this was my intention.”
I studied her—the tremor in her hands, the pout, the subtle manipulation in every word. Like she was the victim. Again.
Tears streaked down her cheeks.
“I just… I don’t want us to be enemies. We were sisters once… I wish we could go back.”
And just like that, the boys reacted.
“Stop making her cry, Elena,” Nathan snapped.
“Come on, Sabrina,” Gabriel said softly. “You shouldn’t be walking around. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Their care for her stung, the attention raw and unearned.
“I’ll feed you,” Nathan said, taking her hand. “You need to eat.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel added. “We’ll bring your favorite seafood. You need your strength.”
Then they turned to me.
“You eat what we made, Elena,” Nathan said. “You’re discharged. Stop being picky.”