100. Damage (Lexi POV)

As I sat there, the pricking sensation of the needle wove in and out of the flesh of my damaged fingers. Each puncture brought a sting that radiated up my arm, like an incessant reminder of the night's calamity. Beside me, Clay gripped my other hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of my palm. He was there, but not really. It was as if his thoughts had carried him to a distant realm, somewhere far away from the small, sterile room where the healer worked on me.

His distant demeanor wasn't lost on me. I knew he was wrestling with his own turmoil, perhaps struggling with how to bridge the widening chasm between us and Luke. At that moment, though, the physical discomfort was overshadowed by the unsettling stillness that lay between us. Clay was a rock in turbulent seas, dependable but inherently separate from the chaos. His silence weighed on me more than the sensation of the stitches pulling my skin taut.

I tried to focus on the healer's movements instead, on the scent of an