Melody's POV
The morning sun slipped through the cracked blinds, casting thin golden lines across the room. I blinked slowly, the pain in my head duller than the day before. My body felt heavy but lighter than the last few days. For the first time in a long while, I could breathe without that sharp sting inside.
I sat up carefully, muscles protesting but manageable. No more crushing headaches, no sharp cramps just the dull reminder that I had been through hell, but I was still here. Still standing. Still fighting.
My phone buzzed beside me. A message from Stella: "How are you? Ready to get back out there?" I smiled, fingers hovering over the screen before replying: "Almost. Need a little more time."
The truth was, I was ready. The sickness, the pain they were walls I had to climb over. Now that I was climbing, there was no stopping me.
I stood, stretched, and moved toward the small mirror by the window. My reflection looked tired but determined. The dark circles under my eyes told the story of restless nights, but my gaze was clear, sharp the fire was back.
No more hiding in the shadows. No more excuses. If the past had taught me anything, it was that survival meant action. Movement. Making every second count.
I pulled on my jacket and stepped outside. The cool air brushed my skin, filling my lungs with fresh hope. The campus was waking up too. Students hurried past me, their conversations a blur, but I only saw one thing opportunity.
Opportunity to find answers. To claim my future.
I walked with purpose toward the small café near the campus where Marc worked. My heart beat faster with every step. Not just because of what Marc represented my long-lost brother but because today, I needed to reclaim my strength in the world outside the car and the hospital bed.
When I arrived, Marc was behind the counter, focused and calm. He looked up as I entered, surprise flashing in his eyes that quickly softened into a warm smile.
"Melody," he said, wiping his hands on a towel. "You look better."
"I am," I said simply, pulling out a chair. "And ready to stop running."
He nodded, his expression understanding. We talked about small things at first the café, his customers, the slow days. But beneath the surface, I was thinking bigger.
How do I stop running? How do I move forward when the shadows of the past still reach for me?
Marc must have sensed it. He reached out and placed a steady hand on mine.
"We'll figure it out. Together."
Those words echoed more than I expected. The truth was, I didn't have to do this alone anymore. For years I had thought I was the only one. But now, I had a brother. Someone who understood parts of my story I couldn't explain.
Later that day, I returned to the warehouse Marvis had offered my reluctant sanctuary. The cold concrete and steel walls no longer felt suffocating. Instead, they felt like a place where I could rebuild.
Marvis was there, his gaze unreadable as I stepped inside. He didn't say much his silence spoke volumes. But I could tell he noticed the difference in me. The spark returning.
Without a word, he handed me a file. Inside were notes, photos, and pieces of information I had requested about my parents' case. The hunt was far from over, but now I had tools to fight back.
As I studied the documents, a thought settled in my mind strength wasn't just about muscle or weapons. It was about knowledge, strategy, and willpower.
And I had all three.
When Marvis finally spoke, his voice low but steady, I was ready.
"You're not a victim," he said. "You're a player. And players make their own fate."
His words burned into me. No more running. No more hiding.
Tomorrow, I would return to the university not as a scared girl, but as a woman ready to reclaim her life.
I looked at Marvis then, a silent promise between us.
Whatever comes next I would be ready.