**ELENA POV**
The first thing I become aware of is the sound.
Not voices. Not machines. Just the quiet, rhythmic beep that cuts through everything else like a metronome keeping time for a world that nearly stopped.
I am sitting in a chair that is far too small and far too hard, my spine curved forward, my neck aching from the angle. My cheek is pressed against something warm and solid. A mattress. A hospital bed.
His bed.
My fingers are locked around Damian’s hand. I do not remember choosing to hold it. I only know that at some point, letting go stopped being an option. My grip is tight enough that my knuckles ache, tight enough that my wrist is stiff, but I cannot bring myself to loosen it.
If I let go, he might disappear.
That thought lives permanently in my chest now, lodged behi
