"But they worked," I say.
"They worked. Your fever broke yesterday morning. You've been sleeping naturally since then, not sedated. Reynolds said that was a good sign. That your body was healing."
"And you've been here the whole time."
"Most of it. Astrid made me shower once. And eat, but I came right back." She looks down at our joined hands. "I couldn't leave. Every time I tried, I'd get to the door and think—what if hewakes up and I'm not here? What if something happens and I'm not here? So I stayed."
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yeah, I do. For staying. For being here. For—" I pause, searching for the right words. "For choosing me. Even when I couldn't choose back."
Her eyes fill with tears again.
"Stop making me cry. I've cried more in the last four days than I have in years."
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No," I admit. "I'm not."
She laughs again, wiping her eyes.
"I'm going to get Aesir. And your mom. They need to know you're awake."
"Okay."
She stands, but I don't let go of her hand.
"Ingrid?"
"Yeah?"
"When I'm healed—when this is over—I want to talk. About us. About the future."
Something shifts in her expression.
Hope, maybe.
Or fear.
Or both.
"Okay," she says softly. "We'll talk."
Then she slips out the door, and I'm alone with the beeping monitors and the ache in my side and the growing certainty that I'm done wasting time.
Life is too short.
I almost learned that the hard way.
I'm not making that mistake again.
The next few hours are a blur of medical checks and tearful reunions.
Aesir comes first, poking and prodding, checking my vitals, examining the wound.
