Eloise’s POV
Something was pulling me, like fingers wrapped around the thread of my soul. Gentle, steady, then suddenly urgent.
Pain blossomed through me like a scream underwater. I gasped without air, the weight of it pushing against my chest. My eyelids fluttered open to a cold, white ceiling, too bright, too still. The scent of antiseptic stung my nose.
I wasn’t dead. But I didn’t feel alive either.
Beeping. Somewhere nearby, rhythmic and slow. The beeping that only came with hospitals.
My lips parted. “Water…” I croaked.
A rustle. A gasp. Then—
“Eloise?” Mike’s voice, tight and shaken, barely audible.
I turned my head, every inch of movement a war against the agony pressing into my abdomen. His face hovered above mine, framed by shadows and fluorescent light. His hair was messi
