Regina woke again—it was already morning.
A sliver of soft light filtered through the curtains, brushing faintly across the sterile white room. She frowned instinctively. The moment she moved, pain lanced through her back. Her breath caught sharply, and she squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenched against the sudden sting.
She hissed softly, waiting for the ache to subside, while inwardly scoffing at herself.
Why do I keep blacking out like this lately? What time even is it…?
Slowly, she forced her eyes open again. Her gaze shifted sideways—and froze.
A strikingly handsome face came into view, its cold lines softened by sleep.
Waldo.
He sat in a chair beside her bed, elbow resting on the armrest, the back of his hand lightly supporting his jaw. His eyes were closed, breathing slow and even.
Asleep.
Regina stared.
He didn't look like the man she'd come to fear—the one cloaked in fury and command. No. This version of Waldo radiated something else entirely.
Calm.
Quiet.
