Bryce sighed in frustration. “What’s the point of this now? You know I’m busy.”
And with that, he hung up. I stared at the phone in disbelief. I had fought for my life and endured unbearable pain, and the person I trusted most dismissed me as if I were nothing.
The next day, while the world spun into my fevered dreams, Bryce showed up at the infirmary, all apologies and excuses.
“I didn’t know you were really hurt,” he said, staring at my cast. “I thought you were joking—your group's the best, after all.”
His fingers brushed my forehead gently as if his touch could heal the chasm that had opened between us. “Does it hurt?”
Before, that simple gesture would’ve melted my heart. But today, I couldn’t muster the strength to care.
“No,” I lied flatly.
He frowned, probably sensing the distance. "I know you hate pain. What do you want to eat? I'll bring it for you later," he offered, smiling.
It was a half-hearted attempt to make up for abandoning me. But before I could reply, the door swung open. Lucia breezed in, her arm slipping around Bryce with an ease that made my stomach turn.