Rain's POV:
Seeing her—even from a distance—does something to my chest.
She looks better.
But better in that fragile, temporary way that feels like a small mercy.
The monitors are quieter.
Her breathing steadier.
She's curled on her side, clutching the blanket like it's something protecting her.
I hope she likes the dinosaur.
The thought follows me as I drag myself up the stairs, one slow step at a time, legs heavy like I've already lived a whole day.
The stairwell smells faintly of disinfectant and old coffee.
My footsteps echo too loud.
Everything feels louder today.
I unlock the door to my designated exile—the sad little room full of files, mismatched chairs, and a desk that wobbles no matter which leg I try to fix first.
Back to paperwork.
Back to pretending this is enough.
I sit, open a file, close it again.
Black Ledger.
The words sit there, heavy and wrong.
