Page 29 of Veil of Death and Shadow

I exhaled sharply, the sound of it as desperate as I felt.

There, in the bed, lay Frank.

His feeding tube and catheter were still hooked up, his pajamas clean and newly changed.

I leaned back against the wall and watched him breathe, swearing that I felt the walls breathe along with him, that his breath flowed through me, too.

My vision blurred, this time from tears that I failed to keep back.

I slid down the wall, burying my head between my knees, and took slow, painful breaths.

He was okay. He was alive.

It was just in my head.

Not real.

Silently, I echoed the sentiment over and over, sliding the beads on my ring with each repetition of the promise.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed like that, how long I sat with him in that room, how many times I watched the oxygen fill and empty from his lungs before I could convince myself that he wasn’t gone—that he was here—but the feeling had long gone from my legs.

Sora was right.

I couldn’t live like this forever—locked in fear, constantly waiting for the worst to happen.

That was no life, and it helped no one.

I stood on tingling feet, pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, before closing the door behind me, quietly as I could, even though most of the patients up here were deep in a sleep that I could never shake so easily.

“Shit.” The word was low, deep—an echo.

When I turned to search for it, I found Menace flying through the hall—a ball of wings and feathers and chaos. He let out a sharp caw, the gentle thrust of his wings weaving wind through my hair as he landed on my shoulder.

A tall figure was hunched over near the top of the stairwell, just outside of Mrs. Pederson’s room. They stood slowly, their eyes locked on mine.

Or at least, I assumed that they were.

They wore a dark jacket with a thick hood pulled up so far that I could only see the briefest glimpse of pale-pink lips and a sharp, smooth jawline.

“Sorry,” I called out, embarrassed by the waver in my voice. “He’s a bit obnoxious, but he won’t hurt you.”

My breath hitched when I glanced at the figure’s hands, the only other part of them not covered by shadow or cloth. Long fingers, banded by silver rings, wrists covered in ink.

A flare of recognition hit me like a bullet to the chest.

The memory of the man on the day of The Undoing. His hand on my arm, the feel of his grip forever tattooed against my skin.

When I blinked, he was gone.

I ran back down the hall, took the staircase two at a time, but he was nowhere to be seen. Disappeared, just as he had before.

Menace, annoyed by the rocky movement of my chase, flew above me and back out the open window.

“Mareena, you okay?”

I tensed, then let out a shaky breath when I turned around and found Aidan studying me, his blue eyes shining with concern.

Aidan was what he called a ‘forever student’ working his way through a never-ending internship. Like most med students around the world, he dropped out of school after The Undoing. Now, he spent most of his time here, trying to help where and when he could, never able to quite shake the itch to help people who needed it.

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