NOAH
I stood there, gasping, taking him in. He looked battered. There was a jagged cut above his left eyebrow, still seeping dark red, and another deep gash across his cheekbone.
His expensive white shirt was ruined, torn at the shoulder and splattered with blood. Bruises were already blooming like dark flowers along his jawline.
A nurse was hovering over him, her face a mask of exasperation. "Mr. Wolfe, please. You need to lie down. We need to run the CT scans. There could be internal hemorrhaging, a concussion—"
"I told you, I'm fine," Cassian snapped. His voice was gravelly, impatient, and vibrated with that familiar, arrogant steel. "Where is Cyan? I want to see him. Now."
"Sir, you were in a high-speed rollover, "
"I don't care about the rollover!" Cassian snarled, trying to stand. He winced, his hand flying to his ribs, but he didn't stop. "Tell me where he is."
