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“Cured,” Annika finished for her, her voice soft but sure.

Her mother set the papers down, pressing a hand to her chest. “So, all of this… everything you’ve said… how is it all true?”

“I don’t know,” Annika shrugged, glancing at me with a loving smile. “But I try not to question things as much anymore. I’m just happy they are as they are.”

Her mother shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been sick for so long, I forgot what it felt like to be... normal.”

Annika leaned forward, her eyes bright with emotion. “You don’t have to say anything, Mom. Just... be happy. That’s all I want for you.”

Her mother’s gaze flickered to me for a moment, as if searching for confirmation that this wasn’t some elaborate dream. I nodded, offering a small smile.

“It’s real,” I said, my voice steady. “You’ve got a second chance.”

Her mother exhaled deeply, sinking back into the armchair. “A second chance,” she murmured, as though trying the words on for size.

Annika hesitated, her grip on my hand tightening slightly before she spoke. “Mom, I was thinking... maybe you could come with us. To Ravenshade.”

Her mother blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Ravenshade?”

“To rebuild,” Annika explained. “The town needs people, good people, to help make it what it should be. And we don’t have anything tying us down here anymore.” She paused, her voice softening. “I’d love for you to be there with us.”

The room went quiet, the weight of Annika’s words settling like a gentle pressure. Her mother looked between us, her expression unreadable at first, and then, slowly, she smiled.

“You really think I could help?” she asked, her tone half-joking but laced with genuine curiosity.

Annika nodded fervently. “I know you could. And it’s a fresh start for all of us.”

Her mother’s smile widened, her face lighting up in a way I hadn’t seen before. “All right,” she said, her voice firm. “Let’s do it.”

Annika let out a breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing as she squeezed my hand. The sunlight caught her hair, framingher in a glow that made my chest tighten. She was radiant, alive with hope and determination.

Another two days later, the hum of the car filled the quiet night as we sped along the highway. The moon hung low, casting a silver glow over the endless stretch of road ahead. In the rearview mirror, I could see Annika’s mother in the backseat, her head tilted against the window, gently snoring.

I glanced over at Annika, who was watching her mother with a soft smile. She caught me looking and shook her head, laughing quietly.

“That sound,” she whispered, motioning toward the backseat, “is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

I raised a brow, my lips curving into a smirk. “You’re telling me you prefer snoring over music, over silence, over—what is it you humans love?—the sound of rain?”

She nudged me with her elbow, but her grin stayed. “Yes. Over all of that. It means she’s here, alive, and healthy. You’ll have to deal with my sentimentality for a while.”

“Sentimentality suits you,” I said, my tone teasing but my words sincere. “Though I’d argue your taste in favorite sounds needs work.”

Her laughter bubbled out, low and easy, filling the small space between us. For a moment, I let myself get lost in it, that lightness she brought into my life. It was a sound I could listen to forever.

The highway stretched on, stars scattered like pinpricks of light above us. Annika shifted in her seat, tucking her legs beneath her, her gaze flicking to me.

“Lucas?” she said softly.

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the car.

I glanced at her, surprised. “For what?”

“For... everything,” she said, her eyes searching mine. “For coming into my life, for fighting beside me, for saving me when I didn’t even realize I needed saving.”

Her words hit me like a punch, but in the best way possible. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, trying to steady myself against the rush of emotions her words stirred.