Chapter 255
Delphi’s brows rise. “A surprise?”
“Mmhmm,” I nod. “You’ll see. But it’s sweet. Just… give him a chance to show you.”
Delphi lets out a slow breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready for… whatever he wants from me.”
“He doesn’t want anything from you,” I say. “He just wants you to know that someone’s in your corner.”
She’s quiet for a moment, watching the fish swim across the screen. “It’s strange. Being cared for. Really cared for. Not studied. Not contained. Not mourned. I don’t know how to let myself believe it’s real.”
“I get it,” I say. “It took me a long time to believe I was allowed to be loved, too. That I was more than a project. More than a problem.”
Delphi turns her head to me, blinking slowly. “And now?”
“Now I know that I’m not alone,” I whisper. “And neither are you.”
Her smile is small but real. “Thank you.”
I pat her hand and stand. “Now, come on. Let’s go take a walk. Get you moving a little.”
She rises with a groan. “You’re not very good at letting people rest.”
“Nope,” I grin. “But I am good at helping my friends get to the right place at the right time.”
She eyes me suspiciously but follows. “Is this walk just a walk?”
“Totally,” I say breezily.
“Phoebe.”
I turn and raise a brow. “You want me to stop him?”
“No,” she says quickly. “I… no. I want to see what he planned.”
We continue walking, and for the first time since I found her in that tank, she’s not carrying herself like someone braced for pain. There’s a bounce in her step. A flicker of hope in her eyes.
When we reach Peter’s office, the lights are dimmed, pillows are arranged haphazardly across the couch, and the projector hums softly. Onscreen, the title The Princess Bride is paused and waiting.
Peter stands awkwardly near the corner, fidgeting with a blanket. When he sees us, he straightens, trying—and failing—to look casual. “Delphi! Hey, thanks for coming, I….”
Peter falls silent mid-sentence. His whole body seems to seize with the effort not to visibly react, but his wide eyes betray him anyway.
Delphi steps into view, nervously smoothing the hem of a soft lavender sweater. Her light hair is no longer tangled and wild but freshly cut into soft, shoulder-length waves that frame her high cheekbones and striking blue eyes. There’s a new grace to her now, a quiet confidence beneath the nerves.
I feel her presence beside me, humming with uncertain energy. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I know that I look different from what you’re used to,” she asks, eyes still pinned to Peter, who hasn’t said a word.
Peter opens his mouth once. Nothing comes out.
Twice.
Still nothing.
Finally, he exhales and takes a tentative step forward. “You look…”
She tenses slightly.
“...like you.”
Delphi’s brows knitted, confused. “What do you mean?”
He swallows hard. “Like how I imagined you—when I tried to picture what you’d be like outside the tank. Not the specimen. Not the patient. Just… you.”
Delphi blinks fast, a flush blooming across her cheeks. “That’s… That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Peter chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I meant it.”
There’s a beat of silence, one of those rare perfect still moments where time seems to hang suspended like dust in sunbeams.
“I thought maybe I’d feel like a fraud,” she says softly. “Wearing this skin. Pretending to be something I’m not.”
Peter tilts his head. “You’re not pretending. You’re just… becoming. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an incredible job.”
Delphi's smile trembles a little, and her hand finds mine instinctively. I squeeze it gently as she looks back at Peter. He’s wearing a cable knit sweater and a pair of broken-in jeans. It hits me that this is the first time I’ve ever seen him outside of a lab coat, and I realize that it might be Delphi’s as well.
“You’re not what I expected either,” she says.
He winces. “That bad?”
She laughs—a real, clear laugh that echoes slightly against the sterile walls. “No. That's good.”
They stare at each other for a long second, unsure what to do next, two people brushing up against something vast and new and fragile.
“Hey,” he says. “I thought maybe… if you wanted…”
“I’d like that,” Delphi interrupts gently.
Peter’s smile is brighter than anything in the room.
I take a step back and give them their space.
As they settle onto the couch, side by side but not quite touching, I linger in the doorway for just a moment longer.
This is what we’re fighting for. Not just survival. Not just answers.
But these moments. These connections. These are chances to begin again.
I leave them there, the glow of the projector casting long shadows behind them.
And I swear I hear Delphi laugh.
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