Clay’s watching me carefully, already knowing the answer before I say it.
I look back at her.
At the bruising along her throat.
The bandages.
The machines breathing life into the room around her.
Every instinct in me refuses to move.
“No.”
Clay nods once like he expected nothing else.
“Figured.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then he steps closer and rests a hand briefly against my shoulder.
“We’ll bring them home.”
I believe him.
Because I have to.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Do that.”
Clay lingers another second before turning toward the door.
The room falls silent again after he leaves.
Just me.
Just Olivia.
Just the machines.
I tighten my hold on her hand and lean closer.
“You hear that?” I murmur. “They’re going back for the others.”
My thumb brushes slowly over her knuckles.
“You’d be happy about that.”
Nothing.
No movement.
No squeeze of my hand.
Fear slides cold beneath my ribs.
I lean closer until my forehead rests lightly against the back of her hand.
“You don’t get to miss this,” I whisper. “Not after everything you fought for.”
