It was day four, when the sun last rose for her.
Lunara hadn't left the hospital in three days. Not even once. Her shoes hadn't left her small locker since the evening they rushed in. Now she wore the hospital slippers a nurse had quietly handed her days ago, the thin, quiet things that barely made a sound when she moved.
The blanket draped over her shoulders had started to smell faintly like the sterile walls around her. And the hospital cot in the corner remained unslept, because she refused to lie down while Mila still fought to open her eyes.
She had barely eaten. Barely spoken.
Every beep from the monitor was a thread she clung to. Every shift in Mila's breathing made her heart leap or sink.
Eryx had been watching from the hallway for hours, eyes fixed on the small rectangular window in the door. Each time Lunara looked at him, she broke down. And each time, he felt something inside him fracture a little more.
