I dug my nails into my palms and closed my eyes.
Just when I opened them, the hospital door creaked open.
Erving stepped in carrying a small bag containing food. Seeing I was awake, he paused.
His voice came out apologetic. “You’re awake. The doctor says your back is bruised. You’ll need to rest for a while.”
He set the bag on the bedside table, adding, “Yesterday was chaotic. Anya was trembling all over. I had to get her somewhere safe first, so I wasn’t able to check on you right away.”
I looked at him and let out a quiet laugh—light but with a chill that couldn’t be shaken.
“Check on me? Come on, Erving, you’re just worried that if I die, Anya will lose her muse, right?”
He froze. When he realized what I meant, his expression darkened immediately.
He reached for my face, as if to caress it, saying, “Mandy, don’t say that—”
But I jerked my head away, dodging his hand.
His arm froze midair, and the air in the hospital room went completely still.
After a long, tense silence, Erving finally let out a sigh.
He opened the bag and pulled a wrapped sandwich, placing it carefully in front of me.