A deep silence settled over the hospital room after Tristan's confession. His words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning I wasn't ready to process.
"You should rest," he said softly, standing from the edge of my bed. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."
I nodded weakly, my eyelids already growing heavy. As sleep claimed me, I felt the ghost of his fingers brushing my cheek—so gentle I might have imagined it.
For the first time since Violet's death, I slept without nightmares. No icy water closing over my head. No tiny coffin. Just darkness and blessed nothingness.
When I woke hours later, twilight had fallen. Tristan sat in the chair beside my bed, his head tilted back, eyes closed. Even in sleep, his posture remained alert, as if some part of him remained vigilant.
