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His throat closed up. He crossed the room in three long strides, sinking onto the edge of the bed and grasping her hands in his. “Rae, I’m here,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched, and then, without hesitation, she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, clinging to him. Noah held her tight, his face buried in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo, feeling her warmth, her heartbeat against his own.

For the first time in weeks, he could breathe again. She was here. She was alive. And so was he.

Her hands shook as she gripped the back of his shirt. “I thought—” Her voice cracked, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”

Noah cupped her face, tilting it up toward him, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. “I told you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “I always will come back to you.”

A sob broke free from her lips before she kissed him. Noah melted into her, pouring every ounce of relief, of love, of homecoming into the kiss.

She was his. And he was hers.

When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his chest, tracing her fingers down his face, mapping out the contours she had memorized in the dark. “I love you,” she whispered, voice raw, so full of certainty, it nearly undid him.

Noah swallowed hard, pulling her impossibly closer. “I love you too, Rae.” He kissed her once more, slow and lingering, a promise sealed between them.

He had found his way back to her.

Forty-One

“No.” Tristan’s voice was sharp as he stood in front of Ruth’s wheelchair, blocking her way.

“Yes,” she shot back, gripping the armrests as if sheer will could push her forward.

Noah stood off to the side, arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t arguing yet, but she could feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Tristan exhaled slowly, carefully measuring his tone. “Ruth, you just had another transfusion. You’re still weak. You’re not… Besides, how are you going to get there?”

“I am not fragile,” she snapped, her hands tightening into fists. “I am not going to sit here like some broken thing while everyone else figures out my life for me. I can call an Uber.”

Tristan blew out an exasperated breath. “I am not saying you’re fragile, Ruth. I’m saying this is reckless. You’re pushing yourself too hard, too fast. And you’re not calling an Uber.”

She glared in his direction, blind but furious. “You don’t get to decide that. And if you stop me, you’re holding me hostage. I’ll call the police.”

Noah finally spoke, voice quiet but thick. “Rae, we don’t even know if?—”

“I need to,” she cut him off, voice shaking. “I need to go back. I need to feel it. Smell it. Walk through it.” Her breath hitched. “I need to remember.”

The room fell silent.

Paul, who had been observing, finally spoke. His voice was calm, almost too calm, but it carried weight. “From a psychiatric standpoint, it might not be a bad idea.”

Tristan turned to him, frustrated. “Paul.”

Paul shrugged. “I’m serious. We’ve been waiting for her to piece things together on her own. Maybe this, going back to where it happened, will unlock what’s been blocked. If you disagree, speak to your psychiatric staff.”

Tristan exhaled sharply. “And if it breaks her instead?”

Paul tilted his head. “It might.” He looked at Ruth. “But she’s asking for this. And that means something.”

Noah cursed, “Damn it.”

Ruth turned her face toward him. “Noah.”

His teeth ground. He was unraveling. She could feel it.

Finally, after a long, heavy pause, he let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. I’ll take you.”