EMBER’S POV
“He’s alive,” I say into his chest. “Surgery went well. He’s in a coma, but he’s alive.”
“I knew he would. You gave him his miracle.” His mouth is in my hair, and his voice is the low, rough, private register that he uses only when we’re alone or close enough to alone that the distinction doesn’t matter. “How are you?”
“I’m standing. That’s about all I’ve got right now.”
“That’s enough.” He pulls back just far enough to look at my face, and his eyes do the thing they always do, which is scan me for damage. He actively treats every shadow under my eyes and every tremble in my lip as a critical threat. “Have you eaten?”
“Knox, I am not eating hospital cafeteria food while my father is in a coma.”
“You’re eating something. Your hands are shaking, and your face is the colour
