Henry's pov...
Tin... tin... tin...
The heart monitor chirped like a mechanical bird trapped in the sterile white cage of the hospital room. Each tinny beep sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. Too steady. Too rhythmic. A cruel mockery of the thunderous heartbeat that used to echo through his chest when we'd fight side by side.
I stared at the wreckage of the man in the bed.
Lucian Thorne was dying.
The realization hit me like a sucker punch every time I walked into this room.
The man who once took a broken bottle to the skull without flinching now lay motionless beneath starched sheets, his olive skin gone ashen.
Five days.
Five days of watching his chest rise and fall only because machines forced it to. Five days of counting the seconds between each mechanical tin like a prisoner counting cracks in a cell wall.
The call from Amelia still rang in my ears.
"Where's my brother? The children are asking." Her voice had been sharp as the scalpel on the nurse's tray.
