I gently raise my sore arm, careful not to disturb the IV, and try to block out the ray of sunshine that’s crept into the room. One of the nurses must have pulled back my lavender-tinted curtains, revealing the chair by the window and the flower field stretching out just beyond. I’ve spent most of my recent days sitting motionless in that chair, as if staring at the field long enough might somehow bring him back.

With some protest from the IV needle in my right arm, I finally sit up in the brick-like hospital bed. I drape the blanket—decorated with a variety of flowers—around my shoulders and trudge over to the chair, where I settle in for my daily ritual of reminiscing about him.

"How long have I been here?" I mutter to myself, groaning. It feels like I've been trapped in this hospital for forever. The only freedom I had was stripped from me the day Grayson disappeared.

We met in that field on my first day at Moonlight. I was about six or seven when I overheard the doctors talking about a needle and my blood. As soon as they left to get the supplies, I snuck out through the window and ran until I crashed into a scrawny kid who seemed to blend into the flowers.

"Watch where you're going, weirdo!" he yelped, rubbing his head.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, embarrassed.

"It doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I retorted, a small spark of defiance lighting in me.

"Fair enough. Come sit with me," he said, and so I did. We spent hours talking and playing until one of the nurses found us. But after that, we started sneaking out after the nightly rounds, meeting in our secret spot. We did this every day—until three days ago.

That night, I slipped out of the window, crawled down, and waited in our spot for hours. Eventually, I drifted to sleep, only to wake up to a soft paw poking at my cheek. I rubbed my eyes groggily, and the rabbit hopped away. I looked up at the sky to realize it was already dawn—and Grayson still wasn’t there.

I stand up too quickly and pause, dizziness spinning through my head. When it subsides, I scramble to find him. My first stop is the lake, almost a mile away. The air feels lighter there, more refreshing. I approach the shore, scanning the area in vain. All I see is the rose-colored sky reflected in the water and the wildlife going about its usual business.

I turn on my heel to head into the forest, but I trip over a twisted willow tree root. I crash to the rough gravel, and pain shoots through my chest. My lungs, already in poor condition, struggle to take in air. I curl into a ball, trying to calm my breathing. "It’s okay… you’re okay," I whisper, though the words do little to ease the tightness in my chest. After what feels like an eternity, I manage to steady my breathing and pull myself upright.

Defeated, I head back to my room, hoping I haven’t been gone long enough for anyone to notice. I climb back through the window, and my eyes immediately fall on my nightstand.

"What’s that?" I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.

I slowly approach the dark shape and tilt my head in confusion. As I get closer, I realize what it is—a bouquet of my favorite flowers: lily of the valley, lilacs, and lavender. I reach for a lilac, inhaling its sweet fragrance, when a note slips from between the flowers, fluttering to the cold, tiled floor.