Cyan searched my face for a long moment, seeing the guilt that I couldn't hide and the cold, diamond-hard determination that had replaced my usual stoicism. He nodded once, a sharp, jerky movement. He believed me.
"You should go," I said, my voice softening slightly. I gestured toward his arm, encased in the heavy white cast. "Worry about yourself for once. You were in a car accident days ago, Cyan. You should be in bed, not playing nursemaid."
Cyan shook his head defiantly. "Absolutely not. I'm staying. Noah needs someone right now, and let's face it... you're about as comforting as a sharp rock."
"You're injured," I countered, stepping closer. "You're exhausted. You can barely stand."
"I'm fine!"
"You have a broken arm!"
"It's just one arm! I have another one!"
