GiannaThe hospital room smelled like antiseptic and clinical. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, making my skin crawl. Caelian was lying on the bed, his head wrapped in bandages, dark hair sticking to his damp forehead. The bruises already forming along his jawline and temple made my stomach knot, and I swallowed hard.Rizzo and Marco hovered near the foot of the bed, alert, tense, but unable to do anything but watch. My own arm throbbed where I’d been cut; the forearm bandage felt tight, suffocating, and the bruise blooming across my cheek stung every time I moved. The dull ache in my ribs reminded me that Dolcezza’s blade had grazed me, but I pushed it aside. I had to stay present.The doctor, a stern woman with a clipped bun and eyes sharp enough to cut steel, was staring at the CT scan on the lightbox. She turned, nodding slowly, then faced me.“No internal injury,” she said, her voice professional, calm. “He’s lucky. But you should watch for concussion symptoms: headache, d
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