She's Awake
RONNY’S POV
I didn’t know when exhaustion dragged me under.
One moment, I was gripping Liliana’s hand, whispering prayers I hadn’t said since I was a boy. The next, there was nothing—no sound, no light, just the heavy fog of sleep swallowing me whole.
And then—something soft, featherlight—brushed against the crown of my head.
I jerked awake, my neck stiff from sleeping in the damned chair. My eyes snapped open, and I sucked in a sharp breath when I found myself staring straight into a pair of green eyes. Awake. Clear. Watching me.
“Liliana,” I rasped, disbelief and relief tangling into something that nearly tore me apart.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at me, her gaze blank but steady, like she wasn’t sure if I was real or some cruel trick her mind had conjured.
I didn’t think. Couldn’t. My body moved before my brain caught up. I caught her hand and brought it to my lips, pressing a trembling kiss against her skin.
“You shouldn’t scare me like that,” I whispered against her knuckles, my voice raw. “Don’t ever—ever—do that to me again.”
Nothing. No smile. No faint tug of recognition. Just silence and those eyes, sharp as glass and yet unreadable.
My chest squeezed painfully. Panic threatened to claw its way back, but I forced myself to move, to do something, anything.
“I’ll get the doctor,” I said, standing abruptly. The chair screeched against the floor, the sound grating in the sterile quiet.
I all but tore the door open, catching the attention of the nurse at the station. Within moments, the doctor swept in with practiced calm, his clipboard tucked under his arm as he checked her vitals, asked questions, scribbled notes. I stood to the side, useless, my fists clenching and unclenching as though that could bleed the restlessness out of me.
Finally, he straightened. “She’s stable. This is good—very good. We’ll continue to monitor her for the next day or two, but barring complications, she should be able to go home soon.”
The weight on my chest loosened, but not enough to let me breathe freely.
“Thank you,” I said hoarsely.
He gave me a curt nod, murmured a few more instructions, and then he was gone. The silence returned, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. This one vibrated with the heaviness of all the things unsaid.
I turned back to her. She hadn’t moved, her gaze still locked on me, sharp and searching.
“How are you feeling?” I asked gently, almost afraid to break her again with the wrong words.
Her lips parted. A sound scraped past, faint and fragile. “Water.”
I scrambled for the cup on the tray, filling it carefully and bringing it to her lips. She drank slowly, her throat working with each swallow, and I held the cup steady, terrified of spilling a drop.
When she finished, I set it aside and eased myself back into the chair, her hand still cradled in mine.
Her gaze flicked down to our joined hands, lingered there, then rose back to meet my eyes.
Her voice, when it came, was a whisper—but it sliced through me like steel.
“Someone tried to kill me.”
Every muscle in my body tightened. I forced myself to nod, steady, calm, even though rage boiled hot under my skin. “Yes. I know.”
Her eyes darkened, a storm gathering in green. “And I know it’s the same person who killed my mom.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “You’re right. And I swear to you, I’m this close to finding out who it is.” I held up my free hand, pinching my thumb and forefinger together. “This close.”
She studied me for a long moment, like she was measuring the weight of my words. Then, slowly, she gave a single nod.
The fight drained from her face, exhaustion sweeping in its place. Her lashes fluttered, her breathing slowing, her grip loosening slightly around my hand.
I sat there, unmoving, watching her drift back into sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest became my anchor, the only sound I could trust in the sterile, humming quiet of the hospital room.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, my thumb tracing absent circles against her palm. Minutes, maybe an hour. Time didn’t matter.
What did matter was her. Alive. Breathing. Here.
A soft knock at the door yanked me out of the trance.
I stiffened, careful not to disturb her, and rose quietly. My hand slipped reluctantly from hers as I moved to the door and cracked it open.
Standing there was Erika.
She looked wrecked. Her hair was a mess, eyes swollen and rimmed red like she hadn’t stopped crying all night. Her arms were wrapped around herself, shoulders trembling faintly.
“Erika?” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
“I’ve been trying to call her,” she said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t know she was in an accident. I only found out this morning.”
I stepped aside, letting her in. She moved past me like a ghost, her gaze locking instantly on Liliana’s sleeping form.
“She’s okay,” I said, softer now, trying to offer something resembling comfort. “The doctor said she’s doing well. Just needs rest.”
Erika’s eyes filled again, glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know why someone is trying to kill her,” she whispered, voice trembling. “She didn’t do anything to anyone.”
The words hung heavy in the air, thick with helplessness.
I watched her, the way her fingers twisted in the hem of her sweater, the way she couldn’t quite meet my gaze. Something shifted inside me, a thread pulling tight.
“Erika,” I said carefully.
She glanced up, startled by the weight in my tone.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “She left your house last night. That was the last place she was before the accident.” My eyes narrowed, sharp and unrelenting. “Who could have tampered with her brakes in your house?”
The color drained from her face. She froze, every line of her body going stiff.
Slowly, she turned to me, her eyes wide, her lips parting.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
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