I DIDN'T KNOW UNTIL I GOT HERE that I had feelings for Coriolanus Snow that weren't pure hatred.

In the infirmary, sitting here and listening to his quiet breathing. He's relaxed for the first time I've seen in a while and it almost brings me at ease—knowing he's comfortable and alive.

I'm grateful to have been the first person here for Coryo, even if the nurse still wouldn't be able to release any information on his status or what his recovery would look like—I'm glad that when he does wake up, I'll be here.

Tigris arrived within the first hour of me being there—as the hospital called her before anyone else.

Once she arrived, the first thing she did was come up to me and rest her hand on the side of my arm, looking into my eyes with such a welcome embrace I could feel the genuineness radiating off of her. "Are you okay?"

I nod but don't say anything.

We've met once or twice yet she still cares about my well-being.

She offers a sympathetic smile before moving onto checking out Coryo. First, she slowly sat in the chair I'd previously been sitting in and grabbed his hand, her sole focus on him. "When's he going to wake up?"

"Soon, they said. He's sedated right now for the pain but," I let out a sigh. "Surprisingly his leg should be fine."

"What happened to his leg?" She asks me with a frown and worried brows knitted together.

I remove a hand from being crossed over my chest and wave it in the air. "Uh, one of the structures fell on top of it. And the fire scorched his back--gave him third-degree burns."

She nods and I can see that her eyes are almost welling with tears. She cares so much about her cousin and my own brother doesn't even talk to me anymore.

A NURSE HAD FINALLY COME TO GET ME and tell me that a doctor would be able to see me now.

I followed the blonde woman in white scrubs to just the next room over. She instructed to me to have a seat and wait for the doctor—who she claimed to be with me shortly.

My head was hardly bleeding yet I still felt almost lightheaded. Thankfully, the lighting in this room hasn't been anything too bright. Similar to the room Coriolanus had been in, there were only yellow-tinted lamps and few candles lighting this room.

I look down at my feet that had been dangling off of the bed (due to my height) to see that my high heels have now gone from a bright red to almost entirely brown.

It's a shame, really, as these were my favorite and most expensive pair.

Before I know it, the curtain swipes open and in comes a man in a signature white doctor's coat and a clipboard in hand. He's four or five inches taller than me with dark hair and gray stubble on his jaw.

"Marian Plinth," he analyzes the paperwork on his clipboard before looking back at me, then his brows furrow at the sight of the cut over my eyebrow. "What happened to your head?"

I swallow, not quite ready to say the words out loud yet. "Doesn't your paperwork tell you?"

He analyzes me for a moment, questioning whether or not he should press further. He doesn't. Instead, he steps closer and slides a pair of blue latex gloves on. "I'm going to just examine your head here a little bit. Does anywhere else hurt?"

I nod, placing my hand over the area where my ribs lay. "Right here hurts when I breathe."

He also nods, continuing to feel the skin around my head, examining the cut closely. "You're definitely doing to need stitches."

He then points out a finger and orders for me to follow it with my eyes. I do, and there's a painful pinch on the sides of my head when I look to far to the right or too far to the left.

Then, wasting no time or breath, he feels around where I've lifted up my shirt, and the skin is now almost black and blue entirely. He presses his fingers to the bruise and i immediately wince. "Ow, ow, ow, ow."

Once finally complete, he takes his glasses off and places them in the pocket over his chest. "Well, kid, you've got a 3-inch deep cut, a concussion, and 2 bruised ribs."

I blow out a breath, leaning my back slowly into the wall behind me.

I'm grateful to be alive, whether I have bruised ribs and a concussion or not but everywhere hurts like a bitch.

"Do you have a parent I can call?"

The absolute last thing I want or need is for my mother or father here. I don't want to put another burden on their shoulders, or use any more of their money.

I shake my head. "Can't you call my brother?"

"Is he 18 or older?"

I nod, my eyes pleading.

He narrows his eyes before finally agreeing. "Fine. Is he going to be paying for this visit?"

My eyes go wide with worry. I hadn't even thought about costs.

"You're going to need stitches, we'll need to put you under or at least give you some kind of sedative—"

I shake my head rapidly. "I can handle it. I don't need a sedative or anything. Just—stitch me up and I'll be out of your hair."

He sighs. "I could get in a lot of legal trouble if I operate on you without a proper sedative."

A small smirk forms on my lips because I know he's about to give in. I pull my fingers together and motion it across my lips; showing him that my lips are sealed.