The light in the room had shifted. Dawn filtered faintly through the blinds, brushing pale gold across the linoleum floor. The machines had settled into slower, steadier rhythms. Isabella's fever had broken an hour ago. Her breathing was easier now.
She was still unconscious—but resting.
The worst was over—according to them.
I hadn't moved from my spot. Her hand was still in mine.
The chair groaned softly as I adjusted my grip, brushing my thumb over her knuckles again. I hadn't slept. Couldn't.
My phone buzzed once against the table.
Gray.
I answered, quietly.
"Speak."
Gray's voice came through, low and direct. "It's confirmed. The nurse didn't do it on purpose. CCTV shows her grabbing the IV bag from the restock bin without checking the label. Her logs match. It was just a mistake. No connection to Caden or anyone else. No trace of intent."
"She just grabbed the wrong bag?" I said flatly.
