Shannon nodded. “You need to rest. He fought all the way from Africa. He can fight through this—and you have to too.”
Hunt’s face softened. “He held on for the chance to stay here with you.”
She looked at Dante again, her expression tightening. “I need him to wake up.”
“He will,” Hunt promised. “Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But he will.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, steady but respectful. “If you need anything, I’m steps away.” Then he left the room without a sound.
As the night stretched long,the adrenaline of the OR confrontation began to drain from her body. Her hands still shook occasionally, the way they did after combat flights. Her breath hitched now and then when a memory flashed too vividly.
Krueger’s smile.
The gun pressed to Dante’s head.
The moment she pulled the trigger.
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Dante’s arm. Her whisper was barely audible. “I thought I lost you. I thought he’d take you from me.”
Her shoulders trembled once. Only once. She swallowed the rest of the fear.
A soft knock came at the door. Sam had arrived in Germany. He stood quietly in the doorway, eyes flicking between her and Dante. He pulled a chair beside her and sat down. “Dad’s getting us something to eat and drink. He wants you to rest.”
“I’m not leaving him,” she insisted.
Sam didn’t argue. “Then I’ll stay too. But you can still eat and drink something.”
Together they sat in silence, watching the steady rise and fall of Dante’s chest.
It was nearlydawn when the slightest flicker of movement drew her out of her half sleep. She straightened instantly, eyes wide. Dante’s fingers curled. Just barely. But enough.
She squeezed his hand gently. “Dante,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
His eyelids struggled. His face tightened with the effort of surfacing from sedation. The ventilator hissed quietly with each breath.
She leaned closer, tears pricking but refusing to fall. “It’s okay. Don’t rush. Just try.”
Another small movement. His brow furrowed. His lips parted slightly around the oxygen tubing.
Sam stood up from his chair. “I’ll get the doctor.”
Dante’s thumb brushed weakly against the inside of her palm. It was small. It was faint.
But it was him.
She bowed her head over his hand, her breath shaking, her heart full to breaking. “You came back to me. I knew you would.”
FORTY-NINE
ICU
The monitors glowed softly in the early morning light. Shannon sat straighter in her chair, fatigue forgotten. Sam hovered by the doorway, arms folded, eyes sharp. Her hand remained wrapped around Dante’s, refusing to let go as his body tried again to surface from sedation.
Dante’s eyelids fluttered, a thin crease forming between his brows. His lips parted slightly. His breathing changed, still shallow but no longer entirely passive to the ventilator’s rhythm.
Shannon stroked her thumb over his knuckles. “That’s it. You’re doing fine.”
Hunt entered quietly, no IV pole, with a nurse behind him. His posture was diminished compared to usual, slightly hunched to protect the bandaged wound under his scrubs, but his eyes were alert. He checked the monitors, then leaned close to evaluate Dante’s neurological response. “His brain is trying to re-engage. This is a very promising sign.”
Shannon exhaled softly, relief washing through her. “Can he hear me?”
