Kai scoffs. “You think everything’s about you?”
I meet his gaze. “No. But somehow this is.”
That shuts him up.
Koa stands a moment later. “You should rest.”
“I just woke up,” I protest.
“And you’re still recovering,” he counters gently. “We’ll talk later.”
We.
They leave together, Kai casting one last unreadable look over his shoulder before the door closes.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling, my pulse steady but alert.
Something changed while I slept. Not in them, in me.
I don’t know what game they think they’re playing.
But I know that whatever awoke in me while I was out cold isn’t going back under.
THIRTY
SOL
She’s awake.
I know before I see her because the house feels different when she is. Less hushed. Less cautious. Like something that’s been holding its breath has finally decided to inhale.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs longer than necessary, listening.
There’s movement above. Soft footsteps. A voice – hers – low, steady, unmistakably present. Not the thin, fever-worn sound from before. This one carries weight.
When I reach the top, her door is open. Light spills into the hallway. Koa’s scent lingers – warm, grounding, threaded with something alert. Kai’s is sharper, brighter, the restless edge unmistakable.
They’ve both been in here recently – probably the voices I heard – but they aren’t here now.
Interesting.
I file that away and step closer.
She’s propped up in bed, tray in front of her, colour back in her cheeks. Hair loosely braided, eyes clear. Too clear. She lookslike someone who’s already taken stock of her surroundings and decided not to show her hand.
Her gaze lifts and catches on me immediately.
Something in her settles.
It’s subtle. A fractional drop of her shoulders. A quieting of whatever tension she was carrying.
My jaw tightens.
“That’s enough excitement for one morning,” I say, holding up my hand to show her its contents. Medication. A fresh glass of water is already on the bedside table – probably thanks to one of the twins.
She arches a brow, lips twitching. “You say that like I’ve been throwing a party in here.”
“I say it like you’ve overdone it,” I reply evenly. “And recovery isn’t optional.”