Elena's POV
I couldn't sleep.
The couch creaked every time I shifted. The guards outside barely moved, but I could still feel their presence—like shadows pressed against the windows.
Sebastian hadn't come out of his room.
I kept telling myself that was a good thing. Space. Silence. Time to think. But all it really did was leave me alone with the memory of that night.
The gun.
The scream.
His body falling in front of mine.
I hugged my knees, pressing them to my chest.
He took a bullet for me.
And I never got to thank him. Not properly. I never got to tell him that I thought he'd died—that a part of me shattered when they zipped him into that body bag. That I blamed myself.
I stood.
My feet moved before I could change my mind, carrying me down the hall to his door. I raised my hand, but I didn't knock.
It creaked open on its own.
Sebastian was awake. Sitting up. Bandaged shoulder peeking through the neckline of his T-shirt, a book unopened in his lap.
