Flint’s POV

I ended the call and set the phone face down on the bedside table. My mother’s last words still rang in my head, soft and quick. She told me to rest, to let the doctors handle things. I told her I would. I lied.

Lola slept with the blanket pulled high. Her face looked small and fragile under the hospital light. For a moment I could not move. I kept thinking of the call I had made earlier, the sound of an explosion on the other end.

I had wanted to scream then, to break ...