66. The Stranger In His Skin.

SADIE’S POV

I arrived at the hospital the next morning, my heart dragging behind me like it had lost its way. The sterile white corridors smelled of antiseptic and grief.

Mathew was already there—he hadn’t left since last night. His face was pale, jaw clenched, shoulders heavy with truths he didn’t know how to deliver.

But I knew. The silence said enough.

The doctor had told him everything—the bad news about Grandpa, and about Damon.

My steps slowed as I neared the intensive care unit. Through the glass, I saw him. Damon. He lay there, still and frighteningly fragile, though Damon had never been fragile a day in his life.

His head was wrapped in white bandages, with scrapes marking his face, his hands, and both legs. Machines hummed steadily around him, each sound both a comfort and a torment.

The doctor assured us he was stable, but it was still too early to tell what damage had been done. There was a chance his legs might not recover, though it was too soon to confirm.

My chest tigh