Celia felt heavy, like someone had filled her limbs with lead. When she shifted, a dull ache radiated through her body, settling deep into her muscles and bones. Her throat and mouth were painfully dry, her tongue gritty. She forced her eyelids open, but the world swam, colors blurring together. It took several slow blinks before the room finally came into focus.
The lights were dim. White walls. A hospital bed. The sharp smell of antiseptic hung in the air, but beneath it was something warmer and familiar. Bergamot and sage.
She turned her head.
Lucas sat in the chair beside her, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand wrapped around hers. His thumb traced slow, absentminded patterns across her palm as he stared out the window at the last sliver of sunlight bleeding from the sky.
“Hey,”
