Cilla brings me a chair. Pulling it close to the couch, I keep Maren's hand wrapped in mine. Her fingers are cold but solid. Real. Here.
"Your bond is keeping her alive," Calder says, standing. "Don't let go. Keep talking to her. She can hear you, even if she can't respond yet."
My brothers drift closer once Calder finishes his examination. Sawyer crouches beside my chair, his hand heavy on my shoulder. "We almost lost you twice. Glad you're stubborn." He looks at Maren, and his voice roughens. "She's just as stubborn. She'll make it back."
"She better." The words scrape out. "I didn't survive six months of that hell just to lose her now."
Beau appears with coffee I don't remember asking for. "She's strong. She'll pull through. She's a Hayes now—we don't quit."
The certainty in his voice steadies something in my chest. She is a Hayes. My mate. Part of this clan. And we protect our own.
Eli doesn't say much, just sets a plate of food on the table beside me. "Eat. She needs you strong when she wakes up."
Arguing seems pointless when the look on his face says he'll force-feed me if necessary. So I eat mechanically, tasting nothing, my eyes never leaving Maren's face.
My brothers drift away one by one. Their mates linger long enough to make sure I have everything I need: water, blankets, food. Then they disappear too. Giving us privacy. Space.
Alone with her, the terror I've been holding back crashes through.
"You can't do this," my voice breaks. "You can't save me just to leave. That's not how this works."
Her breathing doesn't change. The golden thread stays thin and weak.
Leaning forward, I press my forehead to our joined hands. "I know you're tired. I know you gave everything you had. But I need you to fight a little longer. Come back to me."
Nothing.
The first day blurs into night. Sleep is impossible. Every time I close my eyes, I see her collapsing, see the grey edges creeping into her vision, feel the moment her consciousness slipped away.
Instead, I talk.
About the orca research I want to resume. "You'll come with me. Document it all with that photographer's eye. We'll figure out how the ley lines affect ocean ecosystems. Track the pods together."
Her hand stays limp in mine, but warmth pulses between us. Faint. Distant. But there.
"I want to expand the cabin. Add a darkroom for your photography. Proper ventilation, the right lighting. You'll have space for all your equipment. We can mount your photos on the walls—the ones that show the magic without revealing too much."
Day two. Dawn breaks grey and cold through the windows. My back aches. My eyes burn. None of it matters.
Eli brings food and refuses to leave until I eat. He sits across from me, waiting until I finish every bite before speaking.
"You need to rest. You're no good to her exhausted."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." His voice is gentle but firm. "You've been awake for forty-eight hours. You're running on fumes and terror."
"If I sleep, I might miss—" My throat closes. "What if she wakes up and I'm not here?"
"Then she'll wait for you." Eli leans forward. "Jonah, your connection isn't going to break because you closed your eyes for a few hours. Trust it. Trust her."
But I can't. The memory of her consciousness slipping away is too fresh. The feel of her going limp in my arms. The way our connection thinned to almost nothing.
"Tell me about her," Eli says instead, changing tactics. "Before all this. Before you bonded."
The words come easier than expected. Her dreams, the six months she spent photographing shimmer without knowing what it meant. How she was drawn to Redwood Rise and couldn't leave. How she defended me with a camera flash and a metal flashlight because she refused to let the shadows have me.
"She saved my life before she even knew what I was. Dragged me into that ranger cabin, fought off shadow creatures, stayed with me when any sane person would have run."
