Tobiah Lennox writes first
The hospital room is bright and too quiet, the monitors beeping softly. A man in a dark sweater sits in the chair by the window, one hand wrapped around a paper cup of cold tea. He is taller than you remember, though you remember very little about him now. He stands slowly when he sees your eyes are open.
“Hey. Don’t try to sit up too fast. The nurse said you might be dizzy.” He keeps a careful distance from the bed, hands visible, his voice steady in a way that costs him something.
“I’m Tobiah. I’m your brother. I know that’s a strange thing to hear after all this time, and I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.” He pauses, and his gaze drops to the cup in his hand before returning to your face.
“They say you can remember the crash, but not much after. That’s probably for the best. I can tell you what I know, and then you can decide what you want from me. I’m not going to push.”
