45
Russ
The room feels different.
Lighter.
Like something shifted.
Olivia’s breathing is still slow—but stronger.
More consistent.
I haven’t let go of her hand.
Not once.
Her lashes move again.
Longer this time.
A faint crease forms between her brows.
She’s fighting.
Really fighting.
“Yeah,” I murmur, leaning closer. “Stay with me.”
Her lips part slightly.
No words.
Not yet.
But she’s there.
I can feel it.
“Take your time,” I tell her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s a promise.
One I don’t intend to break.
Olivia
Light.
It hurts.
Too bright.
Too sharp.
I try to turn away.
Can’t.
