She didn’t wake. Too exhausted.
Watched her. The steady rise and fall of her chest. The way her hair fell across her cheek, copper catching the dim afternoon light filtering through frost-covered windows.
She was still here.
After everything. After watching me seize, watching my heart stop, watching me come apart at the seams, she’d stayed.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, I shifted closer. Covered her hand where it rested on the mattress between us.
Whatever happened, the implant was deactivated. The chemical overdose stopped. My brain no longer drowning.
Wasn’t dying anymore.
The relief should have been overwhelming. Should have flooded through me like warmth, like vindication, like proof that we’d beaten Dresner’s kill switch.
Instead, all I felt was weight.
Remembered everything now. And I had to tell Clare all of it.
The kills. The conditioning. Maeve, my sister, hunted by Oblivion because she loved me enough to keep searching. The fabricated arrest. The eighteen months of systematic torture that broke me down and rebuilt me into something that followed orders without question.
What if she looked at me differently after? What if the man she’d been fighting to save turned out to be someone she couldn’t love once she knew the truth?
Pushed the thought away. Focused on the warmth of her palm under mine. The proof she was real and here and choosing to stay.
For now, that had to be enough.
Clare’s lids fluttered open.
Disoriented for a moment, then focusing on me. Instant alertness flooded her expression. Nurse mode engaging before she was fully awake.
“Xavier.” She sat up quickly, fingers going immediately to my wrist. Checking my pulse. “How do you feel? Any pain? Dizziness?”
Her touch was cool against my skin. Professional. Efficient.
Managed a small smile despite everything. “I’m okay.”
The words came easier than yesterday. Still rough, still damaged, but functional. Progress.
“No tremors.” Held up my steady palm.
Her gaze tracked the movement. Recognition flickered across her features, relief so intense it looked almost like pain.
“Your fever’s down.” Her other palm pressed against my forehead, checking temperature. Clinical assessment running on autopilot. “Vitals seem stable.”
Then she stopped. Realized she was in full medical mode while I was here. Awake. Looking at her.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
The moment stretched between us. Quiet. Tender. Both of us exhausted but together.
Then reality crept back in.
“You’ve been unconscious for twenty-four hours. Your body needed to recover. The seizures, the heart failure, the implant shutdown... it was a lot.”
