Page 14 of Fallen Empire (The Fallen Trilogy #2)

Millie

I’d almost missed it.

A flicker so subtle I thought my brain had imagined it. But then her lashes twitched again, just barely. My breath caught.

“Jaxson,” I called out, my voice breaking mid-syllable.

The chair scraped hard against the tile as he moved. Fast. Urgent.

We both leaned in.

“Savannah, baby,” he whispered, “we’re right here. You don’t have to say anything. But if you can hear us, we’re right here.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. I watched her, holding my breath, afraid to blink.

Afraid I’d miss it again.

Then it happened.

Her eyes fluttered. Once. Twice. Like she was trying to peel them open after days in the dark.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, hand over my mouth. “Come on, Vannah… come on.”

She didn’t say anything. But her lids cracked open just enough to see the shimmer of her eyes underneath.

My heart nearly gave out.

She didn’t look at us, not fully—but her eyes drifted. Slowly. From me… to him… back again.

“She sees us,” I said, voice barely there. “Jax… she sees us.”

I didn’t know if she could really register what was happening. If she could feel our hands or hear our words or if it was all just reflex.

But I didn’t care.

Because Savannah Sinclair had opened her eyes.

And after everything she’d survived… that was enough.

My hands were shaking.

I didn’t even realize I’d started crying until the tears blurred my vision, the image of Savannah blinking up at us now filtered through saltwater and disbelief.

“Ben!” I shouted, twisting toward the door. “Get someone—now!”

He was already halfway through it, boots pounding against the tile like thunder in the quiet corridor. I heard him yell for the nurse, for the doctor, for anyone —his voice all sharp edges and barely contained panic.

I turned back to her.

“Vannah, I’m right here, okay?” I whispered, brushing my hand gently across her forearm. “You’re safe. You made it. Just stay with us, please.”

Jaxson leaned in closer, but didn’t say a word. His hand never left her shoulder, even though I could see in his eyes that he was terrified of hurting her more. His jaw locked. His entire body tense. But beneath all of that… was relief. Hope.

The kind we hadn’t let ourselves feel in days.

Then came the rush—nurses, machines, beeping, questions I couldn’t focus on. Someone checked her pupils. Another adjusted the IV. I backed up, but not too far. Just enough to give them space. Just enough to stay in her line of sight.

“Talk to her,” one of the nurses said. “Keep her grounded if she can hear you.”

“I never stopped talking,” I whispered through a breathless laugh, even as more tears slipped free. “Not once.”

I stepped closer again, just beside Jaxson. She blinked. Slower this time. Eyes locking on mine like she recognized the sound of my voice more than the words themselves.

“I love you,” I whispered. “And if you do anything reckless again, I swear to God I’ll kill you myself.”

Her lip twitched. Barely.

The door swung open again.

This time, it wasn’t another nurse.

Dr. Alvarez walked through, calm and composed. His white coat flared slightly as he stepped inside, clipboard tucked under one arm, his eyes scanning the machines before landing on Savannah.

“She’s awake?” he asked, eyes flicking between me and Jaxson.

“She blinked. A few times,” I answered quickly, too fast. “She looked at both of us. She knows we’re here.”

He nodded once, already moving to her side.

“Good. That’s good. Savannah,” he said, shifting so she could see him without needing to move.

His voice dropped into a calm, steady rhythm, measured and gentle, like a lighthouse beam through fog.

“If you can hear me, I want you to blink once for yes. Twice for no. Can you do that for me?”

We waited.

I held my breath like it would help her think clearer.

Then—one slow, careful blink.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, covering my mouth.

Dr. Alvarez’s smile was tight but relieved. “Okay. That’s a very good sign. We’re going to take this slow. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and all you need to do is blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand?”

Another blink. Just one.

“She’s tracking,” he said, glancing at the nurse behind him. “Let’s document responsiveness.”

He turned back to her.

“Do you know your name?”

One blink.

“Do you know where you are?”

A pause.

Two blinks.

“That’s okay,” he said quickly, voice still steady. “You’ve been through a lot. You’re in the hospital. You were injured, but you’re safe now. You’re surrounded by people who love you.”

Her eyes moved slowly, shifting from him back to us.

To me.

She blinked again. Just one.

“I know, honey,” I whispered, pressing my fingers to her wrist like I could hold her there with just my touch. “I know.”

Dr. Alvarez stepped back slightly. “She’s responsive, but we’re going to keep her monitored for the next twenty-four hours. The pain will still be intense, but we’ll keep adjusting the meds. No talking yet, but blinking is a good start.”

“Can we stay?” Jaxson asked, his voice strained.

Dr. Alvarez didn’t hesitate. “You’re the reason she’s still here. I wouldn’t dare move you now.”

The doctor lingered for a second longer, eyes flicking between Jaxson’s hand on her arm and mine curled around her wrist.

“But let’s try to refrain from touching her,” he said gently, not unkind. “We don’t know what areas hurt, and as much as you want to ensure she knows you’re here... you’re going to have to do it without physical touch for now. At least until she starts talking.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I pulled my hand back like I’d just touched an electric fence, guilt lancing through my chest. Jaxson’s fingers lingered a second longer, like it physically pained him to let go, before he finally drew his hand away too, slow and reluctant.

Dr. Alvarez gave us both a short nod before stepping back. “She’s a fighter,” he said simply, then turned and walked out.

The click of the door behind him was my undoing.

It was small, quiet, barely even a sound.

But it felt like the final seal breaking.

I didn’t know if it was Pandora’s box cracking open or just the weight of everything from the past week finally finding the one unguarded part of me... but I folded. Slumped into the chair beside her bed and sobbed like a child.

No strength left to pretend anymore.

Not in front of Jaxson.

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.

Sometimes, it was just the act of staying.

She was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting in her own way.

But she needed sleep.

And truthfully? So did I.

I tried to keep my posture straight, but the ache in my spine told on me.

Every bone in my body had turned to lead, and no matter how many times I blinked, the blur in my vision wasn’t clearing.

I’d been running on adrenaline for days, and now that the crisis had cracked open just enough for hope to slip in—I felt it. The crash.

“You should rest,” Jaxson said, voice low but firm.

I looked over at him, trying to offer some kind of half-hearted protest, but he wasn’t having it.

“I mean it, Millie. I’ll stay right here. If she even twitches, you’ll be the first to know.”

I glanced at Savannah again, watching the way her lashes stilled against her cheek. Her chest rose gently beneath the thin hospital blanket, her body finally easing.

She was okay. Not fully, not yet. But okay enough that I could let go. For now.

“Just a little while,” I whispered.

Jaxson nodded, and I moved to the sofa. The faux leather was unforgiving, but I didn’t care. I bent my legs up enough so my entire body was inside both ends, pulled the thin hospital blanket over my lap, and let my eyes close.

Because maybe we couldn’t celebrate yet. Maybe the fight wasn’t over.

But she’d opened her eyes.

And that was enough for today.