Rain's POV:
The night is beautiful.
It really is—achingly so.
The kind of beautiful that feels unfair when you're standing inside it hollowed out.
The mountains are still, massive silhouettes carved against the sky, their edges softened by mist.
Snow glints faintly under the cloud cover, reflecting a pale, bruised light.
The wind carries the scent of pine and cold earth, clean and sharp, like it's trying to wake something inside me.
But I feel empty tonight.
No—
That's not quite it.
I feel useless.
The word settles heavy in my chest, ugly and persistent, refusing to leave.
My day dragged on in a blur of forms and numbers.
One chart after another—
BP. Pulse. Saturation.
Names I won't remember tomorrow attached to bodies I wasn't allowed to really touch—not in the way that matters.
Not in the way that fixes something broken.
One hundred and sixty people.
One hundred and sixty times I wrapped the cuff around an arm.
