The medical bay in the Ivory Tower was becoming my least favorite room in the world.
"Hold him down," I ordered Rook.
Cassian gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the side of the bed. I poured antiseptic over the reopened wound on his side. It hissed, bubbling pink.
"You have a bad habit of ripping my stitches," I said, my voice tight with worry. I threaded the needle with steady hands. "If you do this again, I'm using a stapler."
"Sienna used the stapler on the guard," Cassian wheezed, managing a weak smirk. "It would be unsanitary."
"Focus on breathing," I scolded him, passing the needle through his skin.
In the corner of the room, Sienna sat on a stool, staring at her hands. She had scrubbed them three times, but she was still rubbing them as if she could feel the recoil of the gun.
"He's dead," Sienna whispered. "Luca. I actually killed him."
