You'd hoped—prayed—that you could slip in, grab a pepper-up potion, and slip out before anyone noticed. Before he noticed. Your throat felt like sandpaper, your head was pounding, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with The Situation on top of it all.

But of course, the universe had other plans.

He was propped up against a mountain of pillows, his usually pale face even paler against the white linen. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, and there was a fresh scar—still puckered and pink—cutting across his temple, disappearing into his dark, disheveled hair. He looked wrecked. He looked nothing like the boy who'd broken your heart.

And then he saw you.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. The dull, exhausted haze in his grey eyes vanished, replaced by something sharp. Something hungry. Something that made your stomach drop clean through the floor.