The rain hadn't stopped.
Grace woke in the infirmary once more—this time not from grief, but exhaustion. Her IV beeped softly. A thin blanket covered her legs. Outside the window, the courtyard blurred behind sheets of water.
Ethan sat in the corner.
His hair was a mess. His clothes—still the same from yesterday—hung on him like regret. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days.
She didn't speak.
Neither did he.
Finally, Grace whispered, “You're still here."
Ethan looked up. “I couldn't leave."
“You already did."
He flinched. “Grace, please—"
She turned her head slowly. “Johnson is gone."
“I know."
Her eyes met his. “And I was alone."
“I'm sorry," he rasped.
“You don't get to be sorry."
He stood, pacing. “I didn't know. If I had—"
“You didn't answer. That's what you did.
