Maeve

Misty doesn’t ask questions, and I’m thankful for it. Blake watches with a scowl as Soren sits on the edge of the bed and extends his arm to Misty, who inspects it then looks at me.

“It was an accident,” I tell her, swallowing past the guilt, and honestly, shame of hurting Soren like this. “I meant to do that to Blake.”

Misty glances at Blake with a frown. “What the hell has gotten into you two?”

Blake widens his stance, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his shoes instead of answering her question.

“Later,” I breathe. “Can his arm be healed fully?”

Misty nods,...