SILAS

The morning sun was starting to hit the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. It was still early, but the light was enough to show the IV bag was almost empty.

I was still in the armchair, my body aching from sitting in the same spot since Caleb left. I hadn’t slept. I couldn't.

I watched the way her hair—dark and tangled—was splayed across my silk pillows. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand told me it was nearly six. She should have woken up by now. The worry I’d been shoving down all night was starting to claw its way back up.

I found myself leaning forward,...