Astraea's POV
I sat at the edge of the bed, glaring at the unconscious girl sprawled across the blankets like some pathetic, wounded bird. Her face was still bruised from the fight, the dark purple swelling around her eye starting to ease just a little, but not much.
She looked so fragile and weak to the point where it almost annoyed me.
I hated waiting. I hated not acting, but after Draven's little lecture, I couldn't risk tearing into her mind, even though it would have been so much faster and so much simpler. One wrong move, he'd reminded me, and I could break her permanently. And obviously, that was against the rules.
So here I was, sitting here like a damn nursemaid, waiting for a human to wake up so I could talk to her like some mortal caretaker.
Pathetic.
