AT THE SAME TIME
MICHAEL'S POINT OF VIEW:
Xavier was stoking the fire, sweat beading his brow, while Lucien and Adrian chopped herbs with methodical precision. It was like watching a well-oiled machine no hesitation, no questions. Just survival.
"How is she?" Xavier asked, voice rough as he turned back to the fire.
"Still the same…but she drank it." I replied, scrubbing a hand over my face. "We'll know soon enough."
Lucien nodded grimly.
"Then we better hope Emory's right."Lucien said.
"We don't have a choice." I said, voice low. I looked back at the closed door, heart hammering painfully. "We're not losing anyone else."
A week had crawled by like molasses. Each hour stretched long and thin, punctuated only by the rhythmic rise and fall of Isabella's breathing. She was better still pale, still weak, but she was awake, talking in soft murmurs, her fingers always curled around mine. I barely left her side. None of us did.
