Zale sat beside Soren, his eyes red and swollen from the sleepless nights he had spent watching over him. His fingers gently stroked Soren's hair, the motion shaky as fear and anxiety pulsed through his veins. Soren's body had been so still, too still for Zale's comfort.
The memory of him staggering through the door, covered in blood and wounds, haunted him. Every second Soren stayed unconscious was agony for Zale.
He refused to let anyone near Soren now. Not even the doctor was allowed close until Frank, in his calm yet insistent way, had begged Zale to step aside so that the doctor could continue his treatment. Only then did Zale reluctantly move, standing in the corner like a wounded animal, watching with sharp eyes as the doctor tended to Soren. His heart pounded with each small breath Soren took, terrified something might go wrong.
