Page 42 of Fallen Empire

“It went well,” he said, glancing between me and Jaxson. “She tolerated the extubation without any complications. Her oxygen saturation is holding steady on a nasal cannula, and we’ll continue to monitor it closely.”

I gave a tight nod, arms still crossed like they were the only thing keeping me upright.

“She may be disoriented when she wakes,” he added. “That’s completely normal. Her throat will be sore, she’ll likely be groggy and confused. Let her wake up on her own time. No pressure. No loud voices. And above all… don’t overwhelm her.”

“Overwhelm her how?” I asked, my eyes never leaving Savannah’s face.

“Emotionally,” he said, his voice softening. “She’s been through a trauma, both physical and psychological. You’ll want to talk, to explain, to reassure her that everything’s okay now. But what she needs most is calm. Gentle support. O ne step at a time.”

I let out a shaky breath. I wasn’t sure if it was relief or just me trying to stay grounded.

“We’ll be in and out to monitor her vitals,” he finished. “We’ll adjust oxygen as needed, but she’s doing better than expected. If anything changes, someone will be here immediately.”

He gave one final nod before stepping away, the nurses following behind him.

Then… silence.

Not the kind that crushes you. The kind that holds space. The kind that means she’s still here. Still fighting.

Still ours.

Now we just had to wait...

for her to decide to come back to us.

Chapter 10

Savannah

The pain that exploded in my jaw was bearable.

That was the most fucked up part.

The moment his fist landed, I already knew what would come next—my jaw would shift, my head would spin, my knees would hit the floor. I’d learned the pattern. The rhythm. The sequence of destruction.

There was no use fighting. Not anymore.

Not after the first time I tried.

Because fighting back only taught him how to hurt me better.

There’s an old saying that some lessons are learned the hard way. I’d learned mine with a cracked rib and blood in my mouth, proof that resistance wasn’t bravery.

It was an invitation.

So I stopped trying. I stopped screaming. I stopped hoping that someone might hear, or care, or come.

Now, I just took it.

The punches. The lashings. The bend of my finger moving backwards in a direction it wasn’t meant to go until—

Snap.

That was the sound that silenced me the first time. Not the scream. Not the impact.

The break.

Because once you hear your body fail you like that, once you realize pain can actually reach a pitch where your mind leaves your body just to survive it… you don’t come back the same.