The hospital halls were quiet, save for the distant sounds of monitors and the hum of fluorescent lights.
Rain still lashed against the windows, a reminder of the storm that had sent Aurora here, fighting for her life.
Tristan paced the room, his fists clenched tight, jaw set.
His eyes burned with fury, and the tension in the air was thick as a rope ready to snap.
The rest of the Rhysand family sat on the edge of their seats, their faces pale, waiting for news about Aurora.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Daemon entered, his presence filling the room like a dark shadow.
His eyes were cold, almost lifeless, as they swept across the room. Everyone stiffened.
There was something about him—his calm, his silence—that was more terrifying than any words could be.
