Melanie woke up in the hospital again, and this time, there was no shock. No confusion, no panic. Just a dull, familiar stillness. It had almost become a habit by now. Another hospital bed. Another ceiling. Another moment of silence pressing down on her like it was all perfectly normal. Because why wouldn't it be?
In the past few months, waking up like this-surrounded by white walls, the sterile sting of disinfectant in her nose, machines beeping faintly in the background-had somehow turned into a pattern. As if her body had learned not to fight it anymore. As if this was just how things were now.
But the calm, if it could even be called that, didn't last long.
Her gaze shifted, and the moment her eyes landed on the man sitting by the bed, something inside her tensed again. He was slouched in the chair, head tilted to the side, nearly asleep. One arm rested on the edge of the bed like he'd been keeping vigil.
