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“I never want to watch you wake up in a hospital again. Do you understand me?” Alannah whispered, more an order than a request.

Exhausted, Molly still smiled. “Did you just use your mom voice on me?”

“If it keeps you out of danger, absolutely.”

Molly couldn’t help herself. Clearing her throat, still blinking the sleep from her eyes and mind, she asked, “Do you have any concussion cakes for me?”

As it turned out, Alannah was the kind of person with no issue smacking—gently—a bedbound, recently unconscious woman.

“Molly,” Alannah began, then sighed. “They’re still in the oven. Roy and the kids are keeping an eye on them.”

Molly tried to laugh, but the absurdity of humor in a time like this was already settling into something more serious.

“What happened?” she asked. “Where’s Aster?”

“He’s okay. He’s around somewhere.” Worry ignited in Molly’s gut. The implication that he might not have been okay brought dread out of the dark corners of her mind. “I should call your doctor now that you’re awake,” Alannah continued.

Molly reached out, finding Alannah’s hand.

“Aster first,” Molly said.

She hesitated only as long as it took Molly to squeeze her fingers, barely enough pressure to say, Please, I need this. Alannah pulled out her phone and sent a text.

“Alright, I told him you’re awake. He’s barely left your side,” Alannah said with a wry smile. She leaned closer, a strained seriousness covering what looked too much like amusement. “He almost broke in again when they woke you the first time. Roy barely managed to convince him another potential assault charge wasn’t a good idea.”

Molly found herself sinking back against her pillow, something oddly settling about that familiarity, inadvisable as it was. “Predictable, isn’t he?”

“I think you mean nauseating. Besotted if I’m feeling generous, which I’m not. You haven’t had to deal with him this whole time. He’s been—”

Molly nodded when Alannah’s words failed her. She could only imagine, and the thought alone forced a painful lurch in her stomach. The fact that Dr. Macmillan had performed the same diagnostics she had the last time Molly was in the hospital suggested concerns about her memory. That Aster had to endure wondering if she’d forgotten him again tightened Molly’s throat with sympathy.

“How much do you remem—” Alannah started at the same time Molly asked, “How long have I been here?”

Both questions went unanswered as footfalls running through the corridor stole their attention. Alannah smothered a smirk behind her fist.

“That’ll be him,” she said, giving Molly’s hand a pat. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

She stood as Aster burst through the door.

The thing Molly noticed, of all the things that vied for her attention, was that his hair fell in his face, dislodged by what had clearly been a sprint. He gulped for air as he paused in the doorway: a distinct repetition of a scene they’d lived once before. But no security emerged to pull him away this time, and as if he too just realized that fact, Aster launched himself across the room in three more enormous strides.

She dimly registered Alannah slipping away as Aster perched on the edge of the bed. He watched her with such crackling nervousness, such frantic relief, that she nearly felt her own skin buzzing with his energy. He hesitated halfway to reaching for her hands.

“Your doctor said you know your name.” The fear in his voice was unmistakable. Beneath and between the words he said was the question he really meant: do you remember me? Her vision swam.

“Aster,” she said, and his name was all the proof he needed. The next second, he had her hands in his, head bowed over them as he dropped tiny, reverent kisses against her knuckles. She wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through his soft hair, to offer her own comfort, but she didn’t have the willpower to tear her hands away.

A painful lump in her throat made it nearly impossible to speak. “I still don’t remember the rest.”

“I know. They told me that too,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. “Any iteration, remember? You’re stuck with me no matter what.”

Molly let out a strangled laugh, tears finally breaking free. “I love you.”

Aster simply scooted himself closer and reached for her. He tangled a hand in her hair and wrapped another around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Molly alternated between inappropriate laughter and gut-wrenching sobs.

Aster’s chest shook beneath her as he murmured against her neck, mostly unintelligible things Molly would have to accept by touch rather than sound.

His voice came out raw and nearly as broken as she felt when she finally heard him.