The moment they were outside, he caught Emma by the arm—firm, protective—and guided her toward the car. She didn't protest. She rarely did when it was him.
Liam entered lastly. He can go back to his bike later.
He opened the door, almost shoved her into the passenger seat, then got in himself and drove off immediately.
The city lights blurred past.
Inside the car, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ethan glanced at her once, then again. Blood had dried near her hairline. Her posture was straight, but he could tell—she was hurting.
"Hospital," he said.
"I said I'm fine."
"You always say that."
He pulled up to the emergency entrance and got out before the engine had even fully stopped.
As he opened Emma's door, he paused.
His eyes shifted.
Liam was still standing there.
Watching.
Ethan looked at him—long, sharp, unreadable.
The look said everything.
Are you coming?
Liam met his gaze.
"No," Liam said quietly. "I'll leave."
Ethan didn't respond immediately.
"You sure?" he asked.
Liam nodded. "Yes."
Ethan held his stare for one last second, then turned away. No argument. No pressure.
Liam stepped back.
As Ethan guided Emma inside, Liam remained outside under the cold white lights, fists clenched, jaw tight. He watched them disappear through the sliding doors.
Then he turned.
And walked away alone.
---
Inside the hospital, everything was sterile and bright.
A nurse rushed over the moment they saw the blood.
"What happened?"
"Fall. Head injury," Ethan said, calm and commanding. "She was hit."
They took Emma onto a bed, rolling her down the hall. Ethan walked beside her the entire time, never letting go.
"Any dizziness?" "A bit." "Nausea?" "No."
The doctor examined her head, gently pressing around the impact point.
"Minor concussion. No skull fracture. She's lucky."
Emma didn't react.
They cleaned the wound carefully, disinfectant stinging. She didn't flinch. They wrapped a neat white bandage around her head.
An IV was attached briefly. Painkillers administered.
"You're going to feel drowsy," the nurse said.
Emma nodded slightly.
They moved her to a room and left them alone.
---
Ethan sat down beside the bed.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Emma stared at the ceiling.
"…You shouldn't have come," she said eventually.
Ethan didn't look at her.
"I'm your father."
Silence.
"I sensed something was wrong," he continued. "You don't disappear quietly."
She turned her head slightly. "I handled it."
"You almost didn't."
That made her pause.
Ethan finally looked at her.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
Just tired.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," he said.
Emma's expression didn't change.
But her fingers tightened slightly around the blanket.
"…I know."
Outside the room, the hospital hummed softly.
A few hours passed.
The painkillers dulled the ache, but not the thoughts.
Ethan stood up, adjusting his coat. He looked down at Emma, already calmer now, bandage clean, breathing steady.
"I'll go get your mother," he said. "She deserves to see you herself."
Emma didn't argue.
"…Okay."
Ethan leaned down, placed a gentle hand on her head—careful not to touch the bandage—and for just a second, his voice softened.
"Rest."
Then he left.
The door clicked shut.
The room fell quiet again.
---
Five minutes.
Ten.
Emma stared at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, mind drifting.
Then—
The door slammed open.
"EMMA?!"
The voice hit her harder than any blow earlier.
She turned her head.
Diana stood there, breathing hard, eyes wide, hair messy like she ran the entire way.
"WHAT— WHAT THE HELL—?!" Diana rushed to the bed, hands hovering everywhere but not touching. "WHY ARE YOU IN A HOSPITAL?! WHY IS YOUR HEAD WRAPPED?!"
Emma blinked once.
"…You're loud."
Diana stared at her.
Then her face crumpled.
"DON'T 'YOU'RE LOUD' ME—" her voice cracked, "—WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!"
Emma looked away.
"Nothing important."
Diana froze.
"…Nothing important?"
She grabbed the edge of the bed.
"You disappear. School ends early. Arthur's acting weird. Your DAD suddenly shows up after being gone forever—" her voice shook, "—AND I FIND YOU LIKE THIS?!"
Emma stayed silent.
That silence did it.
Diana slammed her hand on the bed.
"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS?!"
Emma finally looked at her.
"Do what."
"THIS!" Diana gestured wildly. "Getting hurt. Fighting monsters. Acting like you're made of metal and not—" her voice dropped, "—not someone I care about!"
Emma's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…You shouldn't have come."
Diana laughed once—sharp, broken.
"Too late."
She sat down hard on the chair beside the bed, fists clenched on her knees.
"You think I wouldn't notice?" Diana muttered. "You think I wouldn't follow the trail of chaos you leave everywhere?"
Emma said nothing.
Diana wiped her eyes aggressively.
"…I was scared," she admitted quietly. "Okay? I was really scared."
Emma's fingers twitched.
"…I'm alive."
"That's not the point!"
Diana leaned forward, voice lower now, deadly serious.
"One day," she said, "you're going to do this and not wake up."
Emma held her gaze.
"…If that happens, you'll be fine."
Diana's eyes widened.
Then—
She grabbed Emma by the collar, careful of the IV but furious.
"DON'T SAY THAT."
For a split second, Emma looked genuinely caught off guard.
"I'm not strong like you, WELL I AM BUT-" Diana continued, voice shaking. "I don't think like you. I don't survive like you. If you disappear—" she swallowed hard, "—I break."
Silence filled the room.
Emma slowly raised her hand… and awkwardly placed it on Diana's wrist.
"…You're stronger than you think," Emma said quietly.
Diana froze.
"…You idiot," she whispered.
Emma didn't respond.
She smiled.
----
A week later.
The hospital room that once felt heavy finally emptied.
Asuka came every day—bringing food, adjusting Emma's pillow, pretending not to worry while worrying the most.
Liam came too, quieter than usual, standing near the door, never staying too long.
Valeria visited with sharp words and softer concern beneath them.
Mostang dropped by like nothing could faze him, cracking jokes that didn't quite land—but Emma understood the effort.
And of course. Diana, visiting Emma with her pukeko bird, flexing it.
And then—
She was discharged.
---
The air outside felt different.
Freedom didn't feel light. It felt… unfinished.
That night, Emma sat on her bed, staring at the wall.
Arthur's face kept appearing in her mind—not angry, not sad.
Just frozen.
"…I should end it properly," she murmured.
---
Arthur's house was as big as ever.
Bright lights. Clean driveway. Expensive silence.
Emma rang the bell.
Footsteps.
The door opened.
Arthur stepped out—
Laughing.
Surrounded by girls. Too close. Too loud. Some holding his arms, one leaning on his shoulder. He looked relaxed. Smiling. Alive in a way he hadn't been before.
Then—
He saw her.
For half a second, something flickered in his eyes.
Then it vanished.
Arthur turned his head away.
Walked past her.
Didn't stop.
Didn't speak.
Didn't acknowledge her existence.
The girls laughed as they followed him, their voices fading down the driveway.
Emma stood there alone.
The door slowly closed behind them.
Click.
She stared at the wood for a moment.
No anger.
No jealousy.
No tears.
Just understanding.
"…Great," she whispered.
She turned around.
And walked away.
No argument.
No apology.
No goodbye.
Because it's the end.
Then––
"Who was that girl?."
"Forget about her." Arthur said.
Emma heard it.
----
Night came quietly.
Emma walked home without rushing, without looking back.
Arthur's words echoed only once in her mind.
"Forget about her."
At home, she washed her hands, changed clothes, sat on her bed, opened a book she didn't really read. Time passed. The house was empty. Peaceful. Hollow.
Then—
A soft knock.
Not on the door.
On the window.
Emma didn't flinch.
She already knew.
She stood, slid the window open, and Liam stepped inside like he belonged there—silent, controlled, eyes locked on her from the second he landed on the floor.
She didn't ask how.
She didn't ask why.
Liam glanced around once.
"…Anyone home?"
Emma shook her head.
"No."
That was all the permission he needed.
He stepped closer. One step. Then another. Until there was barely any space between them. His presence was warm, solid—real.
"You went to Arthur," he said quietly.
Emma didn't deny it.
Liam exhaled through his nose. Not angry. Not jealous.
Just honest.
"You always do things alone," he said. "Even when it hurts you."
She looked up at him.
Still silent.
Liam lifted a hand, hesitated for half a second… then gently brushed his thumb along her cheek, stopping just short of her lips.
"You know," he said, voice low, steady, real,
"I love you."
No games.
No manipulation.
No force.
Just truth.
Emma didn't respond immediately.
Then—
She leaned forward.
That was her answer.
Their lips met—slow, careful, sincere. No desperation. No hunger. Just two people choosing each other in the quiet of the night.
Liam froze for a heartbeat, then kissed her back, one hand resting lightly at her waist, the other against the window beside her—protective, not possessive.
When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together.
Emma spoke at last.
"…Stay."
Liam smiled softly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Outside, the city slept.
Chapter end