The air in the VIP wing of St. Thomas' Hospital didn't smell like medicine; it smelled like ozone and expensive perfume. Lucian sat upright in his bed, his chest wrapped in heavy gauze that felt like a straightjacket. His golden-amber eyes weren't focused on the luxury television or the view of the Thames they were locked on the Violet Pixel throbbing rhythmically beneath the skin of his wrist.
It was a heartbeat that shouldn't exist in a world of flesh and bone.
Across the room, Lyra remained motionless. She looked like a fallen porcelain doll, her obsidian hair fanned out across the white pillowcase. The heart monitor beside her was the only thing breaking the silence. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Suddenly, the monitor skipped a beat. Then another.
"Lyra?" Lucian's voice was a gravelly rasp, his vocal cords still healing from the 'gas leak' that Aeterna-Global had used as a cover story.
