Three months later, Seattle's spring arrived gently—misted rain, budding trees, and streets scented with magnolia and damp earth.
In Greenlake Park, Katherine jogged slowly along the gravel path, her pulse guided by a discreet bio-pacemaker nestled just beneath her clavicle.
Each step echoed like a promise she once thought she'd never make again.
Beside her, Lily pedaled a wobbling purple bike, streamers flapping, heart-shaped helmet fastened tight.
“Faster!" Lily laughed. “You're behind!"
“I've got a heart transplant," Katherine reminded her, breathless.
Lily grinned. “And I've got one made of stars. We're even."
—
Back at their two-bedroom apartment near the university district, walls were filled with Lily's drawings: cartoon hearts with capes, labeled “SuperVentricle" and “The I
