His beard had grown uneven along his jaw.
His eyes had the hollow look of someone who had stopped sleeping because sleep felt like abandoning his post.
His hand was wrapped around hers.
Not resting there.
Holding on.
When he realized she was looking at him, his face collapsed with relief.
“Oh, thank God,” he said.
Mallory tried to speak, but only a dry sound came out.
Ethan reached for the cup of ice chips on the tray table and helped her take one tiny piece.
The cold melted over her tongue, and for a second it felt like the first mercy she could understand.
“How long?” she whispered.
Ethan’s throat moved.
“Nine days since you collapsed,” he said. “You were unconscious for most of it.”
Nine days.
Mallory blinked slowly at the ceiling.
The last thing she remembered was the copier at work.
Payroll reports had been tucked against her chest.
