She didn't say anything at first.
Neither did I.
Alexis stood in front of me—barefoot, pale, bruised, but unmistakably alive. Her gown was too thin for the cold lab air, the IV ports still taped to her arms, one cheek scratched and reddened from the restraints.
My breath hitched. All the words I had lined up—they slipped. I couldn't speak.
She moved first. Not a question, not a warning—just wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.
And for a moment, all the static stopped.
I felt her heartbeat against mine. Fast. Desperate.
"You're here," she whispered. "You're actually here."
"You too," I rasped. My throat was dry. "I thought..."
She pulled back. Looked me over. Really looked.
Her fingers ghosted over my jaw, where the bruise was swelling.
"You're injured," she said. "Badly."
I nodded once. "It's not too bad."
She didn't believe that. I could tell.
But then she tilted her head slightly.
