Morning came like a cruel trick.

The sun bled through the windows in warm, golden streams, painting the floor in light—but none of it touched her. Raven still lay in the hospital bed unmoving. Unbreathing.

No—she was breathing. I kept telling myself that. The machines said so. The soft rise and fall of her chest said so. But it didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like her.

I stood by her side, hands fisted at my sides as the doctor checked her vitals again. His brow furrowed. His fingers were shaking slightly as he adjusted the IV.

“She’s getting better,” he said, glancing up at me.

My eyes snapped...