APRIL’S POVThe first alarm didn’t register.I thought it was another echo in my head, the way memories had been replaying on loop since the forest. But then a second alarm shrieked, high and urgent, and the hallway outside Sinclair’s ICU exploded into motion. Nurses darted past with trays, a doctor barked orders I couldn’t make out, and the red light above his door began to flash.My body reacted before my mind did. I shot to my feet, my legs trembling, my palms slick with sweat. No. No, no, no—“Sinclair?!” His name ripped out of me raw, shredded.I staggered forward, pushing through the tide of uniforms, but a guard caught me around the waist, his grip iron-hard.“Miss Dawn, you can’t—”“I have to!” My fists beat uselessly against his chest. “That’s his room! You don’t understand, I—he needs me!”The guard didn’t flinch. His voice was flat, practiced, as if he’d been told exactly what to say.“You’re not family. You’re not on the list. Step back.”Not family.The words gutted me wo

APRIL’S POVThe cold bite of the metal cuffs was the first thing that seared itself into me. Not just my skin, my fucking bones. My wrists ached with every tug the officers gave, each click of the chains tightening like punishment. It wasn’t just restraint. It was accusation. A declaration to the world that I wasn’t April Dawn, the girl who found him, who saved him—I was April Dawn, suspect, liability and a problem.And God, everyone saw it.The hospital doors had swung open like a stage curtain, and the world outside screamed. Camera flashes burst in my face, so fast and blinding I couldn’t even see where the steps began. Voices crashed over each other, questions sharp and cutting, each one a blade I couldn’t deflect.“Is it true you tried to storm the ICU?”“Are you jealous of Miss Decker?”“Was this all about attention?”“Are you in love with him, Miss Dawn?”The last one pierced straight through my chest. I stumbled, my knees nearly buckling, and one of the officers jerked me upri

VERONICA'S POVThe hospital corridor buzzed like a live wire under my skin. The sterile smell of disinfectant mingled with the faint tang of blood and antiseptic, but I barely noticed. My eyes were on the chaos like a hawk, watching the aftermath of April Dawn’s little tantrum. Security guards hovered all tensed up e. Nurses whispered, glancing nervously toward the CCTV screens. And cameras… cameras everywhere, flashing in bursts that reflected off the polished floors, catching me like a deity in the making.I smoothed my coat, the navy silk falling perfectly around my shoulders, and inhaled deliberately. Calm, collected, untouchable—that’s the image I needed to radiate. Panic was for her. Desperation. Clumsy little April, broken at my feet, screaming and clawing for Sinclair. Poor girl. If only she understood that the world wasn’t waiting to rescue her. I already had it in my hands.I stepped aside, lifting my phone with a casual grace, my nails perfectly manicured, red the color of

APRIL’S POVThe city lights outside the hospital cast jagged shadows across the walls of my apartment, but I barely noticed. My mind was still trapped in the chaos of the last twenty-four hours—the flashing cameras, Veronica’s smug face, the way the world had chewed me up and spat me out like I was nothing. My hands itched to move, to grab someone, to fight, but all I could do was sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds that felt like hours.I could still feel the sting of the cuffs on my wrists, the cold plastic chair under me in the hospital waiting lounge, the cameras clicking through the glass doors. The memory played over and over in my mind like some cruel film. And yet, the worst part wasn’t that—I had survived it. The worst part was knowing Sinclair hadn’t. Not fully. He was still out there, unconscious, bleeding, fighting for his life, and I hadn’t been able to do a thing to protect him.I swallowed the lump in my throat, tasting the bitter ash

April’s POVThe first thing I noticed when I woke was the quiet. The world outside my little room seemed muted, as if the city itself had hushed to watch me struggle. The hum of my laptop was loud against the silence, the faint scent of yesterday’s coffee clinging stubbornly to the air. My hands hovered over the keyboard, but I didn’t type. I couldn’t. My mind was spinning faster than I could organize it.Sinclair was awake somewhere in this city, fighting through tubes and monitors, and I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t touch him, speak to him, or even sit near him without risking another public spectacle. The thought gnawed at me like acid. My chest felt tight, my fingers trembling with helpless fury. Veronica had managed to turn the entire narrative against me, painting me as hysterical, obsessive, unstable. Every word, every headline, every whispered rumor echoed in my skull.But I wasn’t going to let her win. Not this time.I pulled the laptop closer, scanning the folder Grandpa ha