Page 65 of Fallen Heir

Raised and angry, spanning along her ribs, her hips, the tops of her thighs. Not fresh, not new—old.Wounds that had healed wrong. Wounds that had never really been allowed to heal at all. I’d felt them, but standing under the fluorescent lights that were so unforgiving, I saw every single one of them. Vividly.

And that was when the rage returned.

Bruce did this.

Whether by his hand or his orders—he let this happen to her.

And for that, I would kill him.

Not quickly. Not mercifully. But slowly. Piece by piece. I’d make sure his last breath was soaked in regret. And I’d watch the light leave his eyes knowing it was me who took it.

But right now, I couldn’t think about that.

Because she was here. In this bed. Barely breathing. And I didn’t know if she’d ever look at me the same again.

Just hours ago, she was laughing with me, wrapped in velvet, her lips whispering things into my ear that still hadn’t left my skin. She let me see her again—not just her body, but her pain. Her walls had come down for me.

I sat beside her and watched the monitors blink. Each breath accounted for. Each beat under surveillance. The machines were keeping track of her body, but no one could measure the damage that had been done to her trust. The damage I’d done. The damage she still didn’t know about.

She’d been asleep for nearly seventeen hours, and I hadn’t left her side once.

When the door creaked open and the nurse stepped in, I didn’t move. I stayed there, watching her chest rise and fall, hoping for something—anything.

The door opened and a young woman stepped in. “Miss Sinclair,” the nurse said gently, clipboard in hand.

Savannah stirred.

Her eyelashes fluttered once, then again, slow and hesitant like even waking up took effort. She blinked, her gaze drifting across the ceiling, unfocused. Disoriented.

“Hi there,” the nurse continued with a soft smile. “My name is Julie. Do you think you can answer some questions for me?”

Savannah’s eyes found mine.

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” I told her, my voice low. I gave her hand a soft squeeze, hoping it would remind her she wasn’t alone. I’d stay here another seventeen hours if she needed it.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly, then turned her attention back to the nurse.

Julie asked her name. The date. Where she was. Who the president was. And Savannah answered them all—quietly, clearly, each word a little stronger than the one before. I could tell by the way she winced it hurt to speak. But with every answer, I felt myself breathe a little easier.

She was still in there.

Still fighting.

After a few more checks and notes scribbled onto her chart, the nurse gave a satisfied nod.

“Alrighty. Looks like you’re going to be able to be discharged soon. Let’s try getting you up and moving. If you can stand and take a few steps, I’ll grab the doctor to sign off on letting you go home.”

She moved to the edge of the bed and gently pulled back the blanket.

That’s when I saw it.

The shift in Savannah’s expression. The shock. The way her shoulders stiffened and her eyes dropped, refusing to meet mine. She’d just realized what she was wearing. No more velvet dress. No more armor. Just the hospital gown.

I felt all the walls going back up again.

She turned her face away.

Didn’t look at me.