The ICU was quiet except for the soft beep of monitors and the muted churn of oxygen vents.
Katherine awoke to a ceiling of pale lights and the antiseptic sting of reality.
Her chest ached—not the sharp sting of pain, but the deep, hollow pull of something foreign, rhythmic, *alive.*
She turned her head.
Aiden sat beside her, cuffs still circling his wrists, dark bruises under his eyes.
“You're here," she whispered.
He looked up, smile slow and soft. “So are you."
“Lily?"
“She's recovering. The graft held."
Katherine's eyes welled. “We're both alive."
Aiden nodded. “And very, very public."
He gestured toward the ICU glass. Outside, Dana Wells stood with a camera crew. Behind her, protesters waved handmade signs:
**“Don't Jail Heroes"**
**“The Heart Knows No Rules"**
**“Let St
