The hospital waiting room smelled like antiseptic and burned coffee.

Roman sat hunched forward on one of the chairs, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them.

His suit was ruined. Dark stains bloomed across his sleeves and lapels.

He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t moved.

The image wouldn’t leave him.

Tessa’s body—limp in his arms.

The unnatural angle of her neck.

The way her arm had twisted beneath her, already bruised.

Blood at the corner of her mouth when she coughed.

Roman’s jaw clenched.

Footsteps approached, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Salima arrived first, her posture rigid, her face carefully composed like she were trying not to worry....