While the joy of Christmas spread out through the city, not everyone could enjoy it.
Kelvin sat in a hospital room.
The chair was uncomfortable. Plastic, institutional, designed for temporary use rather than the extended sessions he'd been subjecting it to. His back ached from hours of sitting in the same position, but he didn't move. Didn't shift. Just maintained his vigil beside Diana's bed.
She looked peaceful. That was the worst part. The life support equipment hummed quietly, beast core technology keeping her body stable while her fractured skull continued its impossibly slow healing process. Her chest rose and fell with artificial regularity. Monitors displayed vital signs that remained frustratingly consistent—not improving, not declining, just existing in this suspended state between life and death.
