Freya pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the room. It smelled like antiseptic and expensive cologne. Darlington was lying in the middle of the massive bed, his arm heavily bandaged and resting on a pillow. His eyes were half-closed, but he shifted his head when he heard her footsteps. "Good morning," Freya said softly. She felt awkward and shy, her hands fidgeting with the belt of her robe. "How... how are you feeling?" Darlington opened his eyes fully. Even though he looked tired and a bit pale, that sharp, piercing gaze was still there. "Well," he said, his voice a bit raspy. "I’m not feeling dead yet. So I suppose that’s a good start." "I am so sorry, Darlington," Freya began, her voice cracking. "Everything that happened last night was because of me. If I hadn't come back, if I had just listened—" "Shhh," Darlington whispered, cutting her off before she could spiral into more guilt. He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Could you... could you
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