The next morning came softly, filtered through the pale curtains of the hospital suite. The air was still cool from the night, carrying that faint, clean scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered linen. Machines hummed quietly in the background.
Lucas stirred, his eyes opening slowly against the light. For a few seconds, the world felt distant, muffled by the lingering fog of anesthesia. His mind pieced together fragments: the sterile brightness of the operating room, the quiet voices, and the sudden cry that had cut through everything and changed it all.
He exhaled, the motion tight across his abdomen. There was soreness, dull but deep, a reminder of the incision beneath the bandages. His hand shifted, brushing against the blanket, searching almost unconsciously until it found another hand waiting for it.
Trevor.
