"No," she says, starting to wrap my hand.
"Then how did you know I was wearing gloves first and then took them off?"
She doesn't answer. I study her face as she works. This close, I can see the faint shadows under her eyes, the tiny freckle just below her left eyebrow, the way her lips press together in concentration.
"Do you still think I want to hurt you?" I ask.
Her eyes look up to meet mine, then back to my hand. "Maybe. I think you blame me for something I couldn't control."
"Couldn't control?" I repeat. "Well, my sister seems to be on your side on that. Me? I'm not sure yet."
"Your sister gets what you don't," she says as she starts to wrap my other hand.
"That so?" I ask, looking at her. "And you're innocent in all this? Ghost Angel?"
Her hands pause for just a fraction of a second before resuming their work. "Where did you hear that name?"
"I have my sources." I watch her face. "They said you can save anyone. That you work miracles."
"Anyone can be saved," she says, reaching for something. "If you're allowed to try."
"Is that your excuse?" I ask.
She wraps the gauze around my knuckles tightly. "It's not an excuse. It's the truth."
"Do you ever think about the ones who’ve died, Ghost Angel?"
She secures the gauze with medical tape. "I remember all of them, Declan. All the ones I couldn't save. And stop fucking calling me that."
She knows my name. Interesting.
"What should I call you?"
"My name."
"Which is?"
She cuts the tape and walks over to the corner of the room. "Thought you had your sources."
I flex my hands, feeling the restricted movement through the gauze and tape.
"I want to hear you say it."
She sighs and presses her lips together for a moment. "Lyra. That's my name. And you're done. You can go."
I nod and stand and just stare at her.
"I don't know what you want from me," she says.
And in truth, neither do I.
I look at my hands.
"You're good at this," I say.
"It's all I've got. Just don't make a habit of getting hurt."
Her eyes hold mine for a second longer than they should.
