(Celine's POV)
"Noah?" I murmured.
As if on cue, every family member huddled outside the Emergency Room turned in unison. Their eyes were bloodshot, brimming with a volatile mix of grief and raw rage.
Noah's mother stood, her movements stiff. "You're alive?" she asked. Her voice was a low, guttural rasp that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the hospital. "You survived... and my son is in there fighting for his life because of you?"
"No... no, Aunty... it's not—" I stammered. Just like that day, the words died in my throat. I had no way to explain that this wasn't what I wanted.
Noah's elder sister surged out of her chair. She lunged into my personal space, her fingers clamping down hard on the bruised skin of my wrist where I had just ripped out the saline needle. I gasped as a sharp, stinging pain shot up my arm.
