The waves outside the hospital cabin lapped gently as the *Aurora Borealis* cut through southern seas.
Aria lay motionless on a recovery bed, eyelids twitching behind closed lids. Her abdomen was stitched and bandaged. Electrodes lined her temples. IV lines looped around her wrists like phantom shackles.
Dominic sat beside her, arm in a sling, skin sallow. His other hand rested on a tiny incubator beside the bed.
Inside: their daughter.
Tiny. Fragile. But alive.
He leaned forward. “Eva Wynters Voss."
Her name caught on his tongue like a prayer.
Aria stirred, eyes opening.
She didn't speak—couldn't.
But she reached for his wrist, tapping twice in a pattern they'd used since the first silence.
He smiled. “She's strong. Like you."
Tears welled in his eyes as the monitor beeped. She
