Page 29 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

T he first thing Faolan noticed about the general ward was the noise.

Not that the high-dependency room had been silent, but this was overwhelming—chatter, laughter, television, nurses calling out names, beeping IVs, and wheelchairs creaking across linoleum.

Patients were in pain and alarms were always blaring.

The world had opened up, and she wasn’t sure she was ready. There was nowhere to hide.

They wheeled her in with a smile and a cheerful “You’ve graduated!” as if it were a ceremony. She forced a smile. She was in a six-bed bay now. There were curtains for privacy, but no silence and no escape.

Her neighbour was an elderly woman named Mrs. Wallace—fizzy white hair carefully pinned, lipstick always smudged.

She used to be a headteacher, she said proudly, back when discipline was a thing and children didn’t talk back.

She liked to tell stories from her school days, vivid tales full of names and anecdotes, even if the names changed every day.

But Mrs. Wallace also wandered the ward at night, confused and calling for her cat. Every afternoon, her husband would visit and sit by her bed, his coat always neatly buttoned, hands folded in his lap. She’d ask him the same question: “Have you heard from David? Is he coming today?”

And every time, her husband would smile, stroke her hand, and lie. “He’s at work, love. You know how busy he is.”

Faolan had overheard him once in the hallway, speaking quietly to a nurse when she asked why the son didn’t visit.

“He died in an accident a year ago, but she forgets. And when I tell her the truth, it breaks her all over again, every single time. I can’t do that anymore”

Some wounds should not be reopened.

Thane didn’t speak to her again but he lingered in the fringes of her life like a shadow.

Sometimes she saw the shift of a familiar silhouette just outside the ward doors.

He was a large man and watching him try to blend in was like watching the lighthouse in the fog.

He was hard to miss. Once, she woke to see him sitting across the room, still as stone, watching her with those eerie eyes.

The moment their eyes met, he looked down and abruptly left.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

She didn’t want him to stay, but she couldn’t let him leave.

***

“Alright, little warrior,” came a deep voice like gravel soaked in honey. “Time to suffer.”

Frank grinned down at her, massive and skin like milk chocolate, with thick dreadlocks tied back and a clipboard clutched like a blunt weapon. He smelled faintly of mint chewing gum and lavender oil. Somehow, it worked.

“Not you again,” Faolan groaned. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. I dream about it at night.” He winked. “Come on. Let’s get those lungs moving before they collapse out of sheer laziness.”

He guided her gently but firmly into a sitting position, supporting her back as she hissed from the sudden stretch of healing ribs.

“I hate you,” she muttered, one arm cradled awkwardly against her chest.

“Everyone does. Means I’m doing my job right.” He dropped the clipboard on her tray and handed her a flutter bag and tube. “You’re gonna breathe in through this. Slow and deep, like you’re sniffing out lies on a date.”

She snorted, then winced. “Ribs, Frank.”

“Then stop laughing. Deep breath in… Hold… Out… We’re keeping those alveoli open and happy. And you know what I always say…happy lungs don’t make friends with pneumonia.”

She obeyed, teeth clenched. The resistance in the tubing made her feel like she was fighting the air itself.

Frank glanced toward the doorway, then leaned in, dropping his voice. “Your ghost’s back.”

She didn’t need to look. She felt Thane like a draft on the back of her neck. “Ignore him.”

Frank arched an eyebrow. “Hard to. He looks like he wants to wrestle me for being within three feet of you.”

“He’s just jealous of your biceps. Or maybe it is me he is jealous of.”

“That makes sense. I mean”—Frank flexed dramatically—“look at these puppies. National treasures.”

She laughed, then immediately regretted it. The sharp catch of pain in her side stole the sound away, leaving her hunched and gasping.

“Breathe. Easy now. Don’t fight the breath. Remember, chest physio is crucial after rib fractures.” His tone softened. “Come on, Faolan. You’ve been through worse. This is just breathing. You’ve got this.”

She nodded, blinking back tears of pain and frustration.

Later that evening, her father arrived in his uniform, still smelling faintly of stale cigarettes.

“They’ve arranged psychological clearance before you come back,” he said, trying to look stern but only looking worried. “It’s mandatory. No shortcuts. Daddy is not going to get you out of this one.”

“I figured.”

“And the Horsemen…they wanted you transferred to a private place near York. It’s supposed to have a good rehab team, and better security. Maybe…”

She shook her head. “No. I am staying here. Who is to say it’s not a loony bin?”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded and placed a small bag on her bedside. “Clean clothes. The cast’s going to make changing hell, but I added scissors. Just don’t tell your nurse.”

She couldn’t sleep that night. Between the ache in her ribs, the weight of the cast, and the soft coughs and murmurs from the other beds, rest was a holy grail, forever out of reach.

When she finally looked toward the open bay door, Thane was there, just beyond it, sitting in one of the waiting chairs. It was as if he was guarding her. Or he was afraid she would escape.

When she looked at him, he looked away. His head bowed and hands clenched.

He was always watching from the shadows, like he didn’t know how to step into the light.

She turned her face toward the wall.