A faint twitch ran through Riley's fingers.
Then another.
Somewhere beyond the darkness, a voice kept reaching for him.
Soft.
Shaken.
Persistent.
"Riley…"
Silence.
Then again.
"Riley… please…"
The sound moved through the fog in his mind like a thread pulling him upward.
His chest rose sharply.
Pain followed instantly.
Heavy.
Everywhere.
He tried to move and felt fire across his ribs, shoulders, arms.
Then light bled through his eyelids.
Riley opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was familiar—clean white panels bordered by dark wood trim.
His private room.
At Styles Estate.
The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.
Monitors beeped steadily beside the bed.
He looked down slowly.
Bandages wrapped across his torso, shoulder, wrists, even part of his jaw. Medical tubes ran from an IV line in his arm. His right hand was taped where the knuckles had split open.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then a shaky breath caught beside him.
Stephanie.
