The hospital was quiet in a way that felt unnatural.
Not peaceful—
but heavy.
The kind of silence that pressed against the chest, making every breath feel borrowed.
In Chris's hospital room, the lights were dimmed low. The machines beside her bed hummed softly, their steady rhythm the only proof that time was still moving. Tubes ran from her arm, taped carefully, delivering fluids her exhausted body desperately needed.
On the narrow couch beside her bed, Lily and Henry slept.
They had fallen asleep without realizing it—sometime between exhaustion and despair. Lily's head rested against Henry's chest, her arms loosely wrapped around his waist. Henry's chin rested lightly against the top of her head, one arm instinctively holding her close, the other hanging tiredly by his side.
Neither of them had planned to sleep like this.
But grief didn't ask for permission.
Fear didn't care about boundaries.
And that night, they had both needed something solid to hold onto.
Another Room
Down the hall, separated by walls and glass and unbearable uncertainty, Twilight lay unconscious.
An oxygen mask covered his face. Transparent tubes snaked into his arms. A steady beep echoed from the monitor beside him—slow, controlled, artificial.
His chest rose and fell faintly.
Too faint.
The knife wounds had been cleaned. The blood loss stabilized. But his body remained still, trapped somewhere far away—between waking and not waking.
Doctors had said the word "stable."
But none of them sounded confident when they said it.
Rony's small blanket lay folded neatly on a chair beside Twilight's bed.
The rabbit himself wasn't there.
Animals weren't allowed in ICU.
Far East – Before Morning
While the hospital slept, the city did not.
In the eastern district, buildings stood broken like snapped bones. Streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over cracked roads and abandoned cars.
A monster roared.
And then—
Steel flashed.
The mask guy moved like a shadow tearing through darkness. His blade shifted mid-air—sword to spear, spear to blade—dark purple light pulsing briefly with every transformation.
He cut.
Dodged.
Ended the fight before it could become one.
People watched from behind shattered windows.
Phones trembled in shaking hands.
Some prayed.
Some filmed.
Some cried.
By the time military vehicles arrived—
He was already gone.
Morning – Chris's Room
A phone vibrated softly.
Henry stirred.
At first, he didn't understand where he was. His body felt stiff, his mind heavy. Then the vibration came again, closer this time—against his thigh.
Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was Lily.
She was still asleep, breathing softly, her face relaxed in a way he had never seen before. Her lashes rested gently against her cheeks. A loose strand of hair brushed her lips.
Henry froze.
His heart skipped—then started racing.
She was close.
Too close.
He swallowed.
Trying not to move her, he slowly shifted his hand toward his pocket. His movements were careful, almost painful in their slowness, afraid that even a breath might wake her.
The phone buzzed again.
He pulled it out.
NE-ONIIIIIII
(Calling…)
Henry winced.
He answered quickly, lowering the phone to his ear.
"Hello," he whispered.
Neon's voice came through, thick with sleep. "Hey… when are you coming back?"
Henry glanced around the room—at Chris lying unconscious, at Lily sleeping against him, at the IV stand beside the bed.
He sighed.
"Soon," he replied quietly.
Neon paused. "Everything okay?"
Henry hesitated. Just a second.
"…Yeah."
He ended the call.
Slowly, he placed the phone back and looked down at Lily again.
For a long moment, he just watched her.
This close, she looked different. Softer. Human. Vulnerable.
He realized—this was the first time he had ever held her like this.
Not during chaos.
Not while running.
Not during fear.
Just… here.
His chest tightened.
Without thinking, he gently adjusted his arm around her, pulling her a little closer—not possessive, not desperate. Just enough to feel that she was real.
Then he closed his eyes.
And let himself fall asleep again.
An Hour Later
Chris's fingers twitched.
Lily woke instantly.
She lifted her head, eyes wide, heart pounding. "Chris?"
Chris's eyelids fluttered.
Slow. Weak.
She blinked once.
Twice.
The ceiling came into focus.
Lily stood up so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Henry—!"
Henry jolted awake, immediately on his feet.
Chris swallowed. Her throat felt dry. Her body felt heavy—like she'd been underwater too long.
"Hey," Lily said softly, sitting beside her. "You're okay. You're safe."
Chris turned her head slightly.
The room felt unfamiliar.
Her voice came out hoarse. "Where…?"
Henry stepped closer. "Hospital."
Memory hit her like a wave.
The blood.
The knife.
Twilight.
Her eyes widened.
"Twilight?" she asked sharply, panic cutting through her weakness. She looked straight at Henry, her hands trembling. "Where is Twilight?"
Henry looked down.
His jaw tightened.
"He's alive," he said carefully. "But… he lost a lot of blood. During surgery, he almost collapsed."
Chris's breath caught.
Lily reached for her hand. "He's stable now. But unconscious."
Chris squeezed Lily's hand weakly. "Can we see him?"
Henry shook his head slowly. "Not yet. He's under observation."
Disappointment crushed her expression.
The room fell quiet again.
Three people.
Three hearts breaking in different ways.
The Weight of Waiting
Time passed without meaning.
Nurses came and went.
Doctors spoke in measured tones.
Machines beeped endlessly.
Chris stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing.
Why didn't I say something sooner?
Why didn't I push harder?
Why didn't he trust us?
Lily sat beside her, pretending to be strong. But every few minutes, her fingers trembled.
Henry stood near the window, arms crossed, staring outside at a city that refused to stop burning.
None of them spoke.
They didn't know what to say.
Because no words could fix what had already happened.
And somewhere, behind glass and machines, Twilight remainedn lay still—silent, wounded, holding secrets that might finally come to the surface.
Outside, sirens wailed again.
Another monster.
Another night.
Another fight.
And inside the hospital—
Three friends waited, helpless, praying that this time…