Moving as quickly as I can, I shuffle over to him, sit on the side of the bed, and take his hand in mine.
“Fiona, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” he mutters, pushing himself up. I help him by laying pillows behind his back and arranging them to help him sit up. He looks worse than he did the other night, and when he winces as he sits back, I squeeze his hand.
“I thought he got an antidote,” I mutter, lacing my fingers into Ethan’s. I look back at Ryan and the doctor for an answer. If he’s been treated already, why is he still sick? There shouldn’t be any problems, unless he got hurt while saving me.
Guilt claws at my insides, scraping away at the relief. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be fine. He was okay before the fire, or at least I thought he was, but I hadn’t really seen him. I ignored
