It was in a word, bad. It was certainly as bad as it looked, given the way Hadyn's leg was suspended above the bed in traction, his arm wrapped in a stark white cast. His clothing had saved him from most of the scraps and punctures, but instead his body was littered with ugly, horrifying bruises. A long row of stitches showed where a branch had punched its way through his shoulder. Hadyn looked, now, as broken as he felt.

The miracle, the doctors had told Avery, was that others had been then when it had happened. Had Hadyn Novak been on that winding road alone when he and his bike went flying off the road, he would have been dead come morning. A branch the size of the man's arm and been rammed through his shoulder, had cut through several major blood vessels and very nearly cut through half of the boy's lung. It was a miracle, they said, he had not bled out before reaching the hospital. It was a miracle that he had stopped before hitting the frozen lake and drowning. A miracle he was still alive.

And that had been why the letter, once found, had broken his doctor's heart. Such pain, he knew, was difficult on people. But after such a miracle? He hadn't known. So he'd called the number, explained in terrible English as best he could before Avery had arrived. And then he'd given her the letter, and a pat on the shoulder. Hadyn would live, but not for long if the soul was not mended as well.

And it was a fair call on the Doctor's part. Because when Hadyn finally opened his eyes, and stared at the wall across from his bed, it was a groan of misery that softly escaped his lips. He hadn't wanted to live, and yet...yet here he was. Turning his head toward the window took effort, but he did so slowly. Expecting Avery, thanks to his letter, left him rather perplexed then to see...Elisha.

Why would Elisha have been there?