Not only were they together, but Cal had unbuttoned Vera's uniform shirt and was checking her wound. They were kneeling on the floor of a dimly lit room, his hand pressed gently to her side, inspecting the bruising and shallow lacerations with clinical focus. But to me, standing just outside the doorway, it looked far too intimate. His touch lingered a second too long. His brows were furrowed with concern that sliced straight through me. My heart broke into sharp, jagged pieces.
Maybe they had something.
Something real.
Something deep and layered and hidden beneath all the silences I never questioned.
And the worst part? I had no one to ask. No one to confirm or deny what my heart was desperately hoping wasn't true.
Grace would've known. She always knew the quiet things—the things people didn't say out loud. She would've told me, maybe even warned me. But Grace was unconscious now, lying motionless with a faint pulse and no voice to soothe my spiraling thoughts.
