Page 49 of Fallen Empire

Not in front of Ben.

Not even in front of myself.

After what seemed like forever, Ben shifted beside me, clearing his throat like he needed an excuse to move. “I’ll give you both a minute,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

It clicked close behind him.

And then it was just me, Jaxson, and Savannah.

He stepped forward, careful not to touch her, but close enough that his voice landed gently at her side.

“Vannah…” His voice cracked slightly. “I know it’s hard. But for the sake of this mountain of mush beside you,” he tilted his head toward me with a faint, broken smile, “I do need you to try your best to come back for us.”

He paused, the air holding still around him.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered.

I looked up through tear-blurred lashes just in time to see him lean down. His hand hovered for a second, then gently, reverently, he pressed the softest kiss to her forehead.

And then… something happened.

Her eyes—already open just a sliver—fluttered closed under the touch.

But when he stepped back—

They opened again.

Slow. Blinking. Like she was trying to hold on this time.

And maybe she was.

I glanced back to him just in time to see one drop of moisture fall from the edge of his face.

I swiped the box of tissues from the side table and tore a few out with shaking hands. My nose was already red, my cheeks hot and wet, but I needed to get it together. For her.

For me.

She didn’t need to wake up to this—me falling apart beside her, drowning in my own grief and guilt and some mythical box of heartbreak I’d conjured in my head, full of regrets and what-ifs that didn’t matter right now. She didn’t need to feel like she was a burden on top of everything else. Not when she’d already carried the weight of the world just trying to survive.

So I dabbed my eyes. Blew my nose. Got my ass out of the chair. Inhaled deep through my nose and forced the air out through my mouth like some kind of meditation trick I’d once seen in a reel but never actually practiced.

“Okay,” I whispered to her, brushing a strand of hair gently away from her forehead. “You did the hard part. You came back. So now it’s my turn to be strong. You rest. I’ll be here when you wake up, looking a lot less like a sobbing gremlin.”

I tried to laugh.

It was barely a sound, more of a breath with a memory behind it, but it was something.

Savannah’s eyes were fluttering again. Not like before, when she’d been fighting to open them, but slower now. Like her body was pulling her back into rest, no longer panicked, just… worn out.

I couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of pain she was living in—quiet, unspoken, buried somewhere beneath all the scars and stitches. If just opening her eyes was enough to drain her, what kind of hell was she enduring beneath the surface? How broken did a body have to be for it to shut down after a moment of consciousness?

It gutted me—to think she was still fighting in silence, even now. Still trying to carry the weight, even as it threatened to crush her.

So I didn’t panic when her lids lowered again.

I let her rest.

Because survival wasn’t always loud.