The infirmary smelled like iron and antiseptic.
Isaac lay on the metal bed, bandages wrapped tight around his ribs and shoulder. Every breath burned. Every blink replayed the rift—screams, tearing flesh, the moment his blade slipped and he almost didn't get back up.
He didn't regret killing the Sols.
He regretted how close the girl had come to dying.
Rebekah stood near the wall, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
"You disobeyed formation," she said finally.
Isaac didn't look at her. "If I didn't, she'd be dead."
Silence.
Rebekah exhaled slowly. "You rushed into a Tier-Three Rift with a fractured stance and no backup."
Isaac finally turned his head. "But I got her out."
Another pause.
Then Rebekah stepped forward and placed something on the table beside him: a GRIMM patch, scorched and torn.
"You held the line longer than most full Reapers would've," she said. "You don't get praise for recklessness. But you don't get punished for refusing to abandon a child either."
Isaac's fingers curled slightly.
The door slid open again, and the atmosphere shifted.
Small footsteps.
Isaac froze.
The girl stood just inside the doorway, wrapped in an oversized GRIMM jacket that dragged along the floor. Her dark hair was still matted with dried blood that wasn't hers. A medic hovered nervously behind her, clearly having lost the argument.
Her eyes locked onto Isaac.
He felt his chest tighten worse than any wound.
"You're awake," she said quietly.
Rebekah turned. "You weren't supposed to be here."
"She kept asking," the medic said. "Wouldn't stop."
Isaac slowly pushed himself upright, wincing. "It's okay."
The girl walked closer, hesitant, like approaching a wounded animal. She stopped beside the bed and stared at the bandages.
"You got hurt because of me," she said.
Isaac shook his head immediately. "No. I got hurt because I ran too fast."
She frowned. "That's stupid."
The girl reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and cracked—a piece of blackened stone from the rift.
"You dropped this," she said. "When you were bleeding."
Isaac recognized it instantly. A shard from his first shattered pull-through. He hadn't even noticed it was gone.
He took it gently. "Thanks."
She hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed without asking permission.
"What's your name?" Isaac asked.
"Kira."
"I know," she said. "They keep saying it."
She glanced at his hands. "You didn't shake when you killed them."
Isaac stiffened.
"I was watching," she continued. "You were scared. But you still smiled at me."
He looked away. "Someone had to."
Kira leaned against his arm carefully, as if afraid he'd disappear if she pressed too hard.
Rebekah turned toward the door. "We'll give you a minute."
Isaac stared at the cracked shard in his palm.
Blood still dried beneath his nails.
And for the first time since becoming a Reaper, someone wasn't looking at him like a weapon.
They were looking at him like home.