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Daniel woke with a sharp inhale, the sting in his side anchoring him back to reality. The fluorescent light overhead burned his eyes, and the steady beep of a heart monitor reminded him that he was still here—still breathing.
His throat was dry, his limbs heavy. He tried to move, but pain flared in his stomach, forcing him to stay still. As his vision adjusted, he took in his surroundings. A hospital room. White walls, an IV drip, the distant murmur of voices outside the door.
Then he saw her.
Not Lena.
A woman sat beside his bed, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked exhausted, her dark curls pulled back into a messy bun. When she noticed him staring, her breath caught.
"Daniel?" Her voice was a mix of disbelief and relief.
It took him a moment to place her. "Claire?"
She let out a shaky laugh. "You scared the hell out of me."
Claire. His sister. The only family he had left.
His memory came back in jagged pieces—the bar fight, the knife, the rain. And then Lena. The river. The choice.
"How long?" His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper.
"Three days." Claire leaned forward, gripping his hand. "You lost a lot of blood. They weren’t sure if you’d make it."
Three days. He had been drifting between life and death for three days.
Daniel swallowed hard. The feeling of the river, of Lena’s touch, still lingered on his skin. He had been so close—closer than he had ever been before. But he was still here.
"You shouldn’t have come," he muttered.
Claire’s eyes darkened. "Of course I came. You almost died, Daniel. And for what?" She shook her head. "I thought you were getting better."
He had thought so too. But the past had a way of dragging him back under.
"You don’t have to do this alone," she said, softer this time. "You still have people who care about you."
Daniel exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers.
He wasn’t sure what came next. He wasn’t sure how to fix what was broken. But for the first time in a long time, he realized something.
He wanted to try.

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