IMOGEN'S POV
I sat in my apartment staring at the wall where Isaac's coat still hung on the back of my door. He'd left it there five days ago when he came over to update me on Deborah's movements. Five days that felt like five years.
The coffee I'd made had gone cold again. I kept making coffee and forgetting to drink it. My stomach couldn't handle food. Sleep came in twenty-minute bursts between nightmares about hospital machines and the sound of Elijah's voice telling me Isaac was never waking up.
The doctors said he might not remember me when he woke up. If he woke up. They said brain injuries were unpredictable. They said a lot of things that boiled down to "we don't know and you should prepare for the worst."
I picked up my phone and scrolled through our text messages again. The last one I'd sent him: Any movement? Still sitting there unanswered. Still waiting for a response that would never come.
