The low hum of the infirmary machines echoed softly through the dim-lit hallway, the air heavy with a strange blend of antiseptic and tension. As Damon sat at Talia’s side, gently stroking her palm while she drifted in and out of sleep, Aria could barely breathe.

The sight of her friend—pale, fragile, stitched together by pain and uncertainty—triggered a storm inside her she couldn’t control.

She felt like an imposter standing there, like she didn’t deserve to be in that room. She could see Damon’s guilt pouring off him, yet it was her own shame that made her chest tighten.

The fear. The jealousy. The grief.

All tangled.

Lucien noticed...