The room was dim, quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor beside Rafael's bed. The sound was both a comfort and a torment — proof that he was alive, but a reminder of how close I had come to losing him.
I sat beside him, my hand clasped around his. His skin was warm now, not that frightening coldness I'd felt when they pulled him out of the wreckage. His chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, but steady enough that I could finally breathe again.
I hadn't slept. Not since they brought him here — this hidden house on the outskirts of the city, far from the chaos, far from blood. The walls smelled faintly of antiseptic and sea air. I'd spent the entire night just… watching. Listening. Whispering things I hoped he could hear.
"You're not leaving me," I murmured now, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. "Not after everything. You don't get to disappear again."
