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Darien sat in one of the chairs in Loren’s room, watching the green line of the electrocardiogram bob up and down.
It was nearly ten. Through the window on the west wall, the city lights glimmered, lines of traffic threading through streets that were mostly barren at this late hour.
Looking out at that city, it was hard to imagine it had faced such destruction not two weeks ago. Most of that destruction had already been repaired, thanks to the magic that allowed for the swift clearing of debris and the reconstruction of buildings. Magic could fix a lot of things, but it couldn’t fix this.
He looked at Loren, at those eyes that had been shut for far too many days, at that perfect face that showed not a hint of emotion. She just…was. Existing, but stuck in place. Breathing, but not living.
Darien got up and shut the door partway. The staff would need access to the room during their nightly rounds, so he never fully closed it.
He crossed the room and laid down beside Loren, being mindful of the equipment keeping her alive. The bed was small and uncomfortable, but if she had to sleep in here, then so would he.
He’d spent every night with her since her heart had stopped. Stopped and started again. Tomorrow, they would both be on their way to Yveswich. He tried not to think about the Caliginous Chambers; those details would come tomorrow. Tonight, he had to try his best to shut off his mind in preparation for the long drive.
Talking to Doctor Joyce Atlas was the first step. As soon as she was on shift, Darien would find her and get this show on the road.
As he slung an arm across Loren’s waist and closed his eyes, he felt a shift deep inside him, an ember burning in the ashes of his life.
It was hope.
Sleep claimed him with swift claws, and this time he didn’t dream. He just slept.
Darien stirred. Sleep had gripped him tight, dragging him down deep, and he had trouble shaking it off. It weighed on him like a heavy blanket, and he fought to lift it, becoming aware of his surroundings bit by bit.
He registered the sound of the heart monitor first, the soft beeping floating through a room that smelled faintly of bleach and hand sanitizer. He felt the cool press of the hospital sheets next, and the plastic of an IV line pushing against the inside of his wrist.
He opened his eyes to a dark room. A nurse must’ve come in while he was asleep and turned off the light.
Angling his head to see the clock on the wall, the starchy pillowcase scratching his cheek, he read the time.
Witching Hour was coming up quick. He’d been asleep for less than two hours, but it was better than what he got most nights.
He studied Loren in the dark, the soft curves of her face illuminated by the light of the ECG machine. He imagined her opening her eyes and giving him one of her drowsy little smiles that made his heart flutter.
Sleep threatened to reclaim him as he let his imagination soar, envisioning Loren stretching her hands out above her head. She would ask him what time it was, her lips parting with a yawn.
Time to get up, sweetheart, he would say.
She would curl up against him, tucking her head against his chest. Five more minutes.
He must have fallen asleep again. When he woke back up with a jolt, his face had broken out in a cold sweat.
Twenty minutes had passed, but it somehow felt like years.
He forced his ragged breathing to slow, matching his heartbeat to the one zigzagging across the monitor—Loren’s heart. Fuck, tired wasn’t a good enough word to describe how he felt right now.
As he laid there, he quarreled with the need to sleep, focusing instead on the ordinary sounds of the hospital, like he did so many nights. Checking to make sure everything was as it should be.
He listened to the familiar drip of the coffee machine at the nurse’s station, the hum of the vending machine in the waiting area, the ticking of the clocks in different rooms. Phones droned a floor down; the calls never stopped coming, not in a city swarming with monsters and crime.
The hair on his scalp prickled. The stiff sheets rustled as he sat up, listening harder—not for those mundane, everyday sounds, but for something else, the reason why he was awake right now when he was so fucking exhausted.
Something seemed…off.
He got up, and as he moved, he slid free the pistol concealed near his hip. Bandit was slumbering in his shadow, but at the click of the safety being released, the dog began to stir.
Walking heel to toe, Darien crossed the room, checking the corners as he moved. He flipped on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness, and eased open the door.
The hallways and waiting area were dim and empty, not a nurse in sight, not even at the desk. The smell of roasted coffee beans filled the air, the drip of the espresso machine tapering off with one last plink, but no one came to pour themselves a cup.
