The door clicked open with a soft hiss.

Kingsley stepped into the dim, sterile room, the air thick with antiseptic and the low hum of machines. A heart monitor’s beeping ticked like a steady but fragile metronome.

He froze at the sight of her.

Katherine lay motionless on the hospital bed, pale against the white sheets. Her head was wrapped in thick bandages, and a tube was feeding oxygen into her nose. An IV line snaked down her arm. Her face, usually full of light and laughter, was bruised, ...