Tess's eyelids fluttered open to the sterile white ceiling of the medical bay, the scent of disinfectant sharp in her nostrils. The ache in her body was dull but ever-present, as if her nerves were waking up slower than the rest of her. Every breath she drew felt heavier than the last.
She shifted slightly—enough to feel the stiffness in her limbs—and turned her head.
Her heart stopped.
Lanse.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed beside hers, elbows resting on his knees, gaze unreadable. She didn't know how long he'd been there, but from the shadows under his eyes and the untouched food on the tray in his hand, she guessed a while.
She sat up straighter, her body screaming in protest. Memories came rushing in like a tidal wave: the fight, the betrayal, the moment he'd stepped between her and death. He'd saved her. Why?
Did he... still care?
Without a word, Lanse stood and extended the tray toward her. "Here," he said flatly. "I brought you a patty."
