The hospital waiting room smelled of bleach and coffee gone cold. Camille sat rigid in an uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the double doors where they'd rushed Stefan an hour ago. Blood stained her clothes, his blood. She hadn't changed, couldn't bring herself to leave, even when a kind nurse had offered scrubs.

"He'll pull through," Alexander said, his fingers laced with hers. "Stefan's tough."

Camille nodded without speaking. The image of ...