AsenaA week passes.Seven days of white walls, steady beeping machines, and hands that never quite leave me alone.Seven days of them: Zavian and Caspian Hale.I sit at the edge of the hospital bed now, fully dressed, my fingers smoothing over the fabric of a blouse I know costs more than anything I own. The room feels different today, it's emptier, like it’s already letting me go, and yet my chest feels tight in a way I don’t understand.“You’re ready,” Zavian says from across the room and I glance up at him.He’s watching me the way he always does now, quiet, observant and like he’s trying to read something I’m not saying.“I’ve been ready for a while,” I reply.It’s not entirely true but it’s close enough.Caspian leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me. “You don’t look ready.”“I am,” I insist, pushing myself to stand.My body still protests slightly, a dull ache lingering in places I don’t want to think about party because of them, but I ignore it. I’ve spent
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