The silence that followed was thicker than before.
Zane eased into the chair Victor had just vacated, dragging it a little closer to the bed. He took in her face with a care that felt like a touch. The pallor. The faint sheen of sweat at her temples. The way her breathing hitched every time she shifted even a fraction.
"You look like hell," he said softly.
"You're not exactly a postcard," she rasped back.
It was small, that flicker of humor, but it loosened something in both of them.
His mouth curved, then sobered. "You scared me," he said, voice dropping. "I thought I was going to lose you in a park, holding a stupid paper bag of strawberries."
She swallowed, eyes burning again. "I thought I was going to lose her."
