ANDREA’S POVI opened my eyes to a ceiling of white panels and the steady beep of a machine close by. The air smelled of antiseptic mixed with clean sheets and something metallic that clung to the back of my throat. My body felt heavy, limbs slow to respond as if they belonged to someone else. A dull ache sat behind my eyes and my mouth tasted dry. The last clear memory was the suite floor, my knees giving way while I tried to cross the short space to the bathroom door, and then nothing but black. Now I was laying in a narrow bed with an IV taped to the back of my hand. Ryder sat in the chair beside me. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the empty wall opposite the bed. His shoulders stayed rigid and his hands hung loose between them. His face held a tightness I had never seen on him before, jaw locked so hard a muscle jumped near his temple, eyes fixed on nothing as if the wall held answers he could not find. The expression looked carved from stone and some
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