Light hurt.
That was the first thing Isabelle noticed a piercing, sterile brightness pressing against her eyelids. The air was cool and clean, but everything inside her felt bruised, heavy.
She tried to move, but her body refused. Even breathing felt like wading through smoke.
A faint beep echoed near her ear steady, rhythmic. Machines. Hospital machines.
She forced her eyes open.
White ceiling. White sheets.
And then a shadow beside her bed.
Sebastian.
He was sitting on a chair pulled close, elbows on his knees, head bowed in exhaustion. His usually perfect suit was replaced by a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants wrinkled, bloodstained at the sleeve. He looked human. Raw.
There were bruises along his jaw, a bandage on his forearm, and a deep weariness in the set of his shoulders.
But he was there.
Alive.
"Sebastian" Her voice cracked like glass, barely a whisper.
His head snapped up instantly.
Their eyes met his full of disbelief, relief, and something deeper that broke her heart completely.
"Isabelle," he breathed. Her name came out like a prayer, like something he'd been saying in his sleep just to stay sane.
He was out of his chair in a second, leaning over her, his hand finding hers.
"You're awake," he whispered, brushing her hair from her face with trembling fingers. "God, you're awake."
Her lips trembled. "What happened?"
He swallowed hard, his voice low. "There was an explosion. We barely made it out."
The memory came in fragments the door, the heat, his body covering hers as everything went white. Her throat tightened. "You saved me."
He shook his head, eyes glistening. "You saved me. You screamed for me to move before it hit" His voice broke, the rest lost to silence.
She reached for him weakly. "Come here."
He hesitated only a heartbeat before sitting carefully on the edge of her bed. She lifted her trembling hand and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over a faint bruise.
"You look terrible," she murmured.
He laughed softly, a sound thick with emotion. "You should see yourself."
"I can imagine," she said, smiling faintly through the pain. "Does the hospital come with mirrors?"
He took her hand again, threading his fingers through hers. His thumb traced her pulse as if to convince himself it was real.
"I thought I lost you," he said quietly. "I thought" His breath hitched. "You stopped breathing for a few seconds. I've never felt fear like that before, Isabelle. Not in all my years."
Her throat ached. "But you didn't lose me."
He looked down at her hand in his the contrast between her pale skin and his scarred knuckles. "I don't deserve that kind of miracle."
She squeezed his hand weakly. "You don't get to decide what you deserve, Sebastian. You get what you fight for."
He blinked hard, looking away, his jaw tightening. "I've fought for power. Revenge. Control. None of it ever mattered. But when I thought I'd lost you" He broke off, his voice rough. "Everything I've ever built suddenly meant nothing."
"Sebastian"
He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to her hand. For a long moment, neither of them spoke the only sound the steady beeping of the monitor beside them.
"I've spent so long running from ghosts," he murmured. "Evelyn, my past, the things I've done. I thought keeping people out would keep me safe. But you" He looked up, eyes burning. "You tore down every wall I had. And even now, after everything, I'm terrified."
"Of what?" she asked softly.
He hesitated. "Of losing you or worse, breaking you the way I broke everything else I ever cared about."
Tears stung her eyes. She lifted her hand to his cheek again, this time more firmly. "Then stop trying to carry the world alone."
He stilled.
"You don't have to protect me by keeping secrets," she whispered. "You just have to let me stand beside you. Even if it's messy. Even if it's dangerous."
He stared at her, something shifting behind his eyes a mixture of awe and pain, as though her words were both a promise and a punishment he didn't think he deserved.
Finally, he exhaled. "You really don't make things easy, do you?"
She smiled weakly. "Neither do you."
He bent forward and kissed her forehead slow, reverent, trembling. "Rest," he murmured. "You're safe now."
Her heart squeezed at the word. "Safe," she repeated softly. "You keep saying that."
He froze, pulling back slightly.
"You can't protect me from everything, Sebastian," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Whatever's still out there whatever's behind that locked door, or Evelyn, or whoever's trying to hurt us I need to know the truth. All of it."
He looked down, his thumb brushing circles over her hand again. "You just woke up, Isabelle."
"Then let me wake up to honesty."
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slow and heavy, like the weight of his past pressed against his ribs.
When he finally opened them, his voice was quiet. "You'll get your answers. But not here."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
He stood slowly, glancing toward the hallway window, where the reflection of rain still streaked the glass. "They'll come for you again. Whoever started that fire didn't mean to scare us they meant to finish it."
Fear prickled up her spine. "Then what do we do?"
He looked back at her, his expression carved from something dark and determined. "We leave the city. Tonight."
"Sebastian"
He shook his head, leaning closer. "No arguments. I'm not losing you a second time."
The steel in his tone should've scared her. Instead, it made her heart ache.
She nodded faintly. "Then take me with you."
He smiled then a small, broken smile that looked like sunlight cutting through smoke. "Always."
He kissed her forehead again, lingered there for a heartbeat, then straightened. "I'll make arrangements."
As he turned to leave, Isabelle's voice stopped him. "Sebastian?"
He looked back, hand still on the door.
Her eyes were glassy, tired, but fierce. "When this is over promise me we'll stop running."
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he nodded, voice low and full of something fragile. "If we make it through this, Isabelle we stop running. Together."
The door closed softly behind him.
Isabelle lay back against the pillow, her heart a slow, uneven drum in her chest.
The rain outside sounded almost like applause or a warning.
And for the first time since the explosion, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they still had a chance.