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“I know.” Leanna pulls back slightly, wiping tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. “I miss her, too. She was like a mother to me.”

“I keep thinking about all the things I’ll never get to tell her,” I say, the words spilling out. “All the moments she’ll miss. She’ll never see me get married, or have children, or...”

Leanna nods, understanding. “It’s not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair,” I say, the bitterness creeping back into my voice. “Life isn’t fair.”

“No, it’s not,” she agrees. “But that doesn’t mean we give up on it. That doesn’t mean we stop living it.”

I pull away, wiping at my face. “I don’t know how to do this, Leanna. I don’t know how to be here, surrounded by all these memories.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she says gently. “Just take it one day at a time. Focus on the antidote. Let the rest sort itself out.”

I shake my head. “I can’t stay here after the antidote is finished. I can’t.”

Leanna takes my hands in hers. “Then come to the North with me. Come play aunty to my two little monsters. Finn asks about you all the time, you know. ‘Where’s Maya? When is Maya coming to visit?’”

The thought of Leanna’s children brings a fresh wave of tears. A small laugh escapes me, watery and weak but genuine. “I’ve missed Finn. I’ve missed you.”

“Then come with me when this is all over,” she says, squeezing my hands. “You don’t have to decide now. Just know that the option is there. You’re not alone, Maya. You’ve never been alone.”

I nod, too overwhelmed to speak. Leanna seems to understand. She pulls me into another hug, and for a while, we just sit there on the floor, holding each other.

“You should get some sleep,” she says eventually. “You look exhausted.”

“I don’t think I can,” I admit. “Every time I close my eyes—”

“I’ll stay with you,” Leanna offers. “We’ll have a slumber party. It’ll be like when we were broke and only had one bed.”

Her words, the mention of a simpler time, bring fresh tears to my eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” She stands, pulling me to my feet with her. “Come on.”

I allow her to lead me to the bed, suddenly too tired to resist. She helps me under the covers, then kicks off her shoesand climbs in beside me, wrapping her arms around me like a protective shield.

“Get some rest,” she whispers. “I’ve got you.”

For the first time in six months, I feel safe. Protected. Not alone. Sleep comes quickly, pulling me under in a dark, dreamless embrace.

I waketo sunlight streaming through the windows and the sound of soft breathing beside me. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure of where I am. Then the memories of the previous day flood back—the lab, Griffin, Leanna. The tears.

Leanna is still asleep beside me, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a halo. She looks peaceful, the stress lines that had marked her face last night smoothed away in slumber.

I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. My head pounds with the beginning of a hangover, but it’s mild compared to what I’m used to. I make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face.

The woman who stares back at me from the mirror is almost unrecognizable. Pale, gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes. Leanna was right—I do look terrible. I’ve lost too much weight, and my hair has lost its shine, hanging limp and dull around my face.

A wave of shame washes over me. What would Mom think if she could see me now? My sweet mother would be heartbroken to witness her daughter living like this—a shell of herself, drowning her grief in alcohol.

“Rough night?”

I turn to find Leanna standing in the bathroom doorway, her hair tousled from sleep, her eyes concerned.

“Something like that,” I mutter, turning back to the mirror.

“How’s your head?” she asks, coming to stand beside me.

“It’s been worse.”