Damien’s POV

Night in the hospital smelled of antiseptic and boiled coffee. It had an edge of rain and the faint perfume of lilies from some anonymous bouquet by the window, something someone had thought would soothe a room that was full of waiting. I spent the rest of the night there, sitting in a chair that folded like a book under me. Beside the bed, Clara’s sister watched each rise and fall of Clara’s chest as if measuring time itself against it. The monitor sighed and sang in its ...