Sienna’s POV

The waiting area reeks of disinfectant, layered with the kind of dread that seeps into your skin. I’m wedged into a stiff plastic chair, turning my hands over and over; each nervous movement flashes my engagement ring under the brutal fluorescent glare.

Damien is right next to me, his hand threaded through mine. It should ground me. Somehow, it doesn’t.

All I can see is Jonah—blood pouring down his face—while paramedics lifted him onto a ...