POV: Emilia
Through the gaps in the boarded-off windows, the weak light of dawn spills pale streaks across the room. It's frigid, too frigid, and the quiet weighs down on me. Enzo still is unconscious; his respiration is shallow but consistent. From his perspective, I have not changed. Not able to. I see blood every time I close my eyes and feel the terror wriggling at my chest.
"Emilia," Vincent's voice breaks through the quiet, low and apprehensive. Arranging his arms over the doorway, he stands there. "You need to relax."
Not turning my eyes away from Enzo, I respond, "I cannot." He needs me.
"He needs you strong," Vincent says, approaching. His face is drawn, weariness carved on every line. You two do.
I shake my head, my body not releasing the tightness. "We have no time for leisure. Still out there they are. They will show up for us.
