Ren slept again after that, not from exhaustion this time, but because his body finally allowed it.
When he woke, the light outside the window had softened into evening. The room smelled faintly of medicine and warm wood. He shifted slightly and felt the dull ache spread through his chest and shoulders, heavy but no longer sharp.
"You're awake again," Ervin said from the chair near the window.
Ren turned his head slowly. "How many times have I been out."
"Too many," Ervin replied. "But this one counts."
Ren let out a quiet breath. "Good."
The door opened gently. His mother stepped in first, hesitant, as if afraid the moment might vanish if she moved too fast. His father followed, silent as ever, eyes fixed on Ren's face.
She reached the bedside and touched his hand. "You scared us."
Ren swallowed. "Sorry."
"That's not an apology," she said, her voice unsteady. "That's a promise you better keep."
He nodded. "I'll try."
