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Chapter Thirty Seven

Five days later and her new routine held her cemented in that same spot. Three nights of bloodcurdling night terrors and agonizing pain around her injury. Mornings spent at this fence post. Afternoons with Dr. Greene, who was an okay therapist, Lizzy supposed. She battled to open up to the old biddy. What did that old bird know about being held hostage by extremists?

What did anyone know? It was tempting to reach out to Mason Clark. He was the only other one who lived through the Scythian terror. Was he as broken as she felt? Did he have a stable support system?

John was her rock. Lizzy wasn’t sure what a self-entitled, ungrateful and now damaged girl did to deserve such devotion. He’d slept on the freaking floor beside her bed—a fussing warrior watching her every move.

Well, that wasn’t fair. Not every move. He kept his distance when there were chores to be done, only pausing to shake her out of the reverie and force her to eat.

C

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