Six months changed everything.
And nothing at all.
The first thing Aiden noticed when he woke up was the light.
Not the blinding white glare of hospital lamps—but morning light. Warm. Soft. Real. It filtered through half-drawn curtains and painted the walls in pale gold, like the world had decided to be gentle with him for once.
He blinked.
His body felt… solid.
That alone made his breath hitch.
For years, weakness had lived in his bones. Shaking hands. Muscles that refused to obey. A body that had always felt borrowed, temporary, breakable. But now—now he could feel the weight of the sheets on his legs. The strength in his fingers when they curled. The steady rhythm of his own breathing.
Alive.
Not surviving.
Alive.
"Aiden?"
The voice cracked before it finished the word.
He turned his head slowly.
