Elena

The emergency room was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of machines. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and damp fabric. Stella sat on the hospital bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the perfect image of fragile grace. Her hair, still wet from the lake, clung lightly to her shoulders. She looked like someone recently rescued, not truly hurt but shaken enough to draw sympathy.

At the foot of the bed stood Silvia.

Her coat was soaked, her posture tense. Her eyes shone ...