The scent of antiseptic burns my nose the second I step into the clinic. It's sharp, sterile, and suffocating—so unlike her scent, the soft blend of caramel and wildflowers that used to cling to my clothes, to my skin, to my godamn soul every time she was done cleaning my room.
But now?
Now all I can smell is blood. Her blood.
Even after three weeks, I still remember the way it coated my hands, warm and sticky, as I carried her into this room.
I still remember the way her body felt—too still, too fragile, too damn close to death.
And looking at her now, she still looks the same.
Too pale. Too lifeless.
A ghost of the girl I tried so hard to protect. I knew going to moonhaven was a bad idea and yet, I allowed for that to happen.
Foolish Caspian. You're a fool.
I close the door behind me, my movements slow, hesitant, like I'm afraid to wake something that can't be woken.