The hospital room was too quiet too still for someone who was supposed to be alive.
Sebastian hadn't moved for hours. He sat by Isabelle's bedside, one hand holding hers, the other pressed against his lips as if prayer could substitute for strength. The machines hummed softly, beeping out a fragile rhythm that was keeping both of them tethered to something that felt like hope.
Her skin was pale against the white sheets. A faint blush had returned to her cheeks overnight, but she still hadn't opened her eyes.
"Come back to me," he whispered, his voice raw. "You're stronger than this."
He hadn't slept since the explosion the chaos, the fire, Evelyn's last look before she vanished into the smoke. He still smelled the acrid sting of burning wires, still heard the sound of metal splitting apart.
He had destroyed Genesis. At least he thought he had.
But in the silence between heartbeats, the doubt was unbearable.
