Ashton nodded, but even though only a few hours had passed, he looked like he had aged under the weight of everything. His usual strong presence felt worn down, like something inside him had been stretched too thin. I didn't say anything. I was already too drained, and sleep pulled me under soon after I was moved into the healing ward.
The next morning, I woke up to noise outside the door. The sound was sharp enough to cut through my fogged mind. When I opened my eyes, a nurse was adjusting my healing drip. I pressed my fingers to my temples and asked quietly, "Who's arguing outside?"
The nurse paused for a second, then answered carefully, "It's Mr. Ashton and Ms. Larson. She wants to see you, but he's blocking her from entering. She's crying outside now."
Crying?
