(Ayra's POV)
Steven insisted I go home.
It was past noon by the time Darius was moved into a private ward.
The doctors told us he was stable now, out of immediate danger, but he still hadn't opened his eyes.
I had clung to that news like how a drowning person clings to a piece of driftwood.
Just knowing he was breathing, knowing his heart was still beating, it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
Steven drove us home in silence.
I sat curled up in the passenger seat, my body cold and shaking despite the warm afternoon sun pouring through the windshield.
I was still wearing the same bloodstained nightgown from the previous day.
I didn't even have the strength to cry anymore. My eyes were dry and burning and my throat sore.
Every now and then, Steven would glance at me, his jaw tight, eyes full of concern. But he didn't push. He just drove.
