An hour had melted away in the quiet gravity of the hospital room — that strange, suspended kind of hour that feels both endless and fleeting. The air hung heavy with the sterile scent of antiseptic and the low hum of machines, their soft beeps deliberately muted at Rafael's insistence. Shadows clung to the corners, deep and still, as if even time itself had paused to catch its breath.
The adrenaline that had once burned through Eliana's veins had faded, leaving behind a hollow, trembling calm. She sat on the edge of Rafael's bed, her body angled toward him, small and fragile against the starched white sheets. Their fingers were laced together — a lifeline, a silent conversation more honest than words could ever be. Rafael's hand, warm and steady despite the IV taped to his wrist, clung to hers with quiet desperation. His strength, once an armor of unshakable confidence, now flickered between exhaustion and restraint.
