The silence that stretched between them was the kind that didn't scream — it breathed. Soft, tight, unbearable.
Leon stood just inside the door. Ayla sat upright on the bed, her eyes no longer clouded with confusion, but they weren't steady either. Her hands gripped the blanket like it might hold her still.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Neither moved.
"I remember," she said quietly.
Leon's breath caught.
"I remember the woods. I remember the fire. I remember Kalen… Viper. Me." She blinked fast. "Ayla."
Leon took a step closer. "Then you know."
"I know who I am," she nodded, voice firm, but there was still a crack in it. "But I don't know who I became."
He didn't answer.
"I was Celeste," she said slowly, like she was still trying to believe it. "I was someone else. I had a different life. A different name. Different… feelings."
Leon's hands tightened at his sides.
"I remember everything," she whispered, eyes meeting his again. "I remember you, Leon."
He inhaled, carefully.
Ayla looked away. "And I remember how much it hurt when you weren't there."
"I didn't know," Leon said, and for the first time, his voice shook. "I looked for you. But you were gone."
"I was right there. I was just—broken."
"You think I wasn't?" he snapped before he could stop himself.
She flinched, and he instantly regretted it.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I just—when I saw you again, and you didn't know me…"
He laughed bitterly. "It was like losing you twice."
Ayla swallowed. "And what did you do, Leon? You followed me. Watched me. Took my blood while I was unconscious."
His face darkened. "Would you have let me, if you were awake?"
"No," she said honestly. "But maybe I would've listened if you'd told me."
He looked away.
"That's the thing about you," she continued softly. "You never ask. You decide."
"That's because I care."
"No. That's because you're afraid."
Leon finally looked at her again, and this time the armor was off. The pride, the anger, the cold certainty — gone.
All that remained was a man who had loved and lost, and still didn't know how to stop hoping.
"I was scared," he admitted. "That if I told you and I was wrong… I'd lose you all over again."
Ayla nodded slowly.
"But you were right," she whispered.
"I was."
She didn't speak for a moment.
Then: "So now what?"
He walked closer, slow and deliberate. "That's not for me to decide anymore."
She studied him. "And what if I choose Damien?"
Leon smiled faintly, though it didn't touch his eyes. "Then you're choosing someone who kept you safe. Who loved you when you didn't even know your name."
Her brows furrowed.
He stepped closer again.
"But," he added, "if there's even a piece of you that remembers what we had — what we were — I'm not walking away. Not again."
Her breath hitched.
"And if there's not?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Then I'll lose you. But I'll lose you knowing. Not guessing. Not wondering. Not dying a little every time you look at me and don't see her."
Silence again.
But it wasn't empty now — it was filled with everything they hadn't said for months.
Finally, Ayla reached out — not for his hand, not for a hug, just a small motion. A gesture.
A beginning.
"Sit," she said softly.
And he did.