Julian swallowed and zoomed in on the photo. Her face filled the screen. He studied it closely, and he smirked.

"Looking forward to seeing you soon, Channel," he murmured under his breath. "You must be important to him."

He locked his phone and set it face-down on the table. His eyes returned to the door, waiting patient for her arrival.

The night went on with music pounding and people dancing, while Julian waited for the girl who didn't know she was already listed in the book of danger.

Meanwhile, Maverick Cruz was in his apartment, lit only by the small lamp standing on the table. He sat on the edge of his couch with elbows on his knees. The room was quiet, yet in his head he could still hear the same old voice.

His father's voice.

"Your mother is dead, Maverick. She's not coming back. Forget her."

Maverick closed his eyes. The memory stabbed him in the heart like it always did. He remembered himself as a small boy, crying until his throat hurt, waiting by the door every night.

Waiting for a woman who never walked in.

He swallowed hard, forcing the tears back down. He hadn't cried since he was a kid.

"She could have said goodbye," he muttered under his breath. "I could have at least seen her body."

Damian Cruz was dead now; killed in a police chase seven years ago. Maverick had buried him, but he wasn't convinced with his father's death. He was looking for answers, he believed someone in their circle had betrayed Damian to the police.

He leaned back and grabbed his phone from the table. His thumb slid across the screen until Channel Holland's picture appeared again.

She was smiling, and she looked beautiful. But one thing stood out to him; she had Damian's eyes. Damian's jaw, and she looked just like him.

Maverick stared at the photo for a long moment.

"How can you look like him?" he whispered. "Who are you to have his eyes? Why do you have his smile?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"I'll find out," he said quietly. "I just need one thing... your DNA. After that, I'll know the truth."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the dark city streets. This was his world now.

He was the leader of his father's gang; the Cruz Syndicate, and his men were waiting for his next move.

Maverick reached for his jacket, slipped it on, and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Time to work," he said to himself.

He put the phone in his pocket, and Channel's picture was still open on the screen. He turned off the lamp, leaving the room in darkness, and walked out the door.

That night, the Adams house was quiet. The lights in the bedroom were dim, soft enough for resting but bright enough so Ava could watch over Ian. She lay on her bed, facing the hospital bed across the room. Ian lay there, stiff and still, his body weak from the severe stroke he had suffered months earlier. The hospital bed had high metal rails on both sides to keep him safe. Beside him stood a small oxygen monitor, its green numbers glowing in the dark. A feeding pump hummed gently, sending liquid food through a tube taped to the side of Ian's face. A suction machine sat nearby, used whenever he struggled to swallow.

He looked thinner than before, his cheeks slightly sunken. His right hand twitched sometimes, the only part of him that still made tiny movements. His eyes were half-open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Ava watched him, she couldn't sleep.

A memory crept into her mind. She remembered the first day she met Ian years ago at the hospital café. He had walked up to her with that bright smile he always carried, holding two cups of coffee.

"You look like someone who works too hard," he had joked, placing one cup in front of her. "Let me fix that."

Ava had laughed, shy and surprised. He had leaned forward, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and said, "One day, I'm going to marry you... just wait."

And she had believed him. She had imagined a house filled with laughter, two or three kids, weekend trips, birthdays, holidays... the simple, sweet life she thought they would share.

But the stroke had taken all of that away, until all she could do was hope... that one day Ian would open his mouth and say something again. Hope that he would stand... that they would be a real couple, not a patient and a tired doctor-wife trying to be strong.

A soft beep from the monitor pulled her back. The numbers changed a little, telling her Ian was awake again... or unable to sleep.

Ava whispered to herself, almost like a prayer, "Maybe tomorrow will be better."

She got up from her bed and walked over to Ian. His eyes moved slowly toward her, and for a second they softened, like he was trying to recognize her.

Ava gave him a small smile.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I'm here."

She reached for the small bookshelf beside the hospital bed and took out a romantic novel; the one she used to read on lonely nights before she met him. She opened it to the page she had left last night.

"Let's finish this chapter," she said softly.

Ian's eyelids fluttered, he breathed slowly as he listened to her voice. Ava sat on the chair next to his bed and began to read calmly.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Ian's eyes finally closed, and Ava gently closed the book and brushed her fingers across his hand.

"Good night, Ian," she whispered.

She stood up, walked back to her bed, and lay down. Her body relaxed at last, seeing him sleeping peacefully.

Within minutes, she drifted into sleep too, and the faint noise from the machines was the only sound in the room.

The following morning, Ava Adams woke up to the ringing sound of her alarm. The room was still dim, only touched by the early morning light that slipped through the curtains. She blinked slowly, pushing herself up on her bed. Across the room, Ian lay on his hospital bed, the machines beside him giving off soft beeps.

Ava rubbed her eyes, then stood and walked to him.

His face was calm, but his chest rose unevenly, guided by the breathing support. The rails on the sides of the bed were up, and the small feeding pump blinked its green lights. A thin oxygen tube ran under his nose.

Ava placed her hand on his arm gently.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, forcing a smile. "Let's start your day."

She picked up the small cup of morning medication, crushed a few pills and mixed in water. She lifted Ian slightly and helped him swallow the medicine.

"You're doing so well," she murmured, brushing his hair back. "One day... you'll get better. I know you will."

Ian blinked slowly, as if answering her. His fingers twitched against the blanket.

Ava checked the monitor numbers, nodding to herself. Everything seemed stable for now.

She sighed. "Okay... let me get ready."

Ava walked to the bathroom. She washed up, brushed her teeth, and fixed her hair neatly. She didn't look at herself too long in the mirror; she hated seeing the worry in her own eyes.

When she stepped back into the room, she rolled Ian's bed toward the door. The wheels moved smoothly, and she guided him down the hallway to the special care room with soft music playing in the background.

Hanna, the maid, appeared with her apron already tied and her hair in a bun.

"Good morning, Dr. Adams," Hanna said.

Ava smiled. "Morning, Hanna. I already gave him his first medication. At eight, please give him the second one, and make sure he finishes his feeding at ten. And... try to take him outside for a little sunshine later, even if it's just the balcony."

Hanna nodded. "I will. And breakfast is ready for you... oats and fruit."

Ava laughed. "You spoil me. I'll take it with me today. I'm running late."

She grabbed the packed breakfast from the counter. Then she turned to Ian again.

"Be good today," she whispered, touching his cheek. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

She leaned down and kissed his forehead gently.

Ian's eyes moved toward her.

Ava whispered, "I love you," then she straightened herself.

"Hanna," she said as she walked toward the door, "call me if anything changes. Anything at all."

"Yes, Dr. Adams," Hanna replied.

Ava hurried outside, her bag over her shoulder, breakfast in hand. She unlocked her car, took a deep breath, and slid into the driver's seat.

"I'll eat at work... if there's time," she said to herself with a weak smile.

The engine started, and she drove off toward the hospital, leaving her husband in Hanna's careful hands.

Ashford Central hospital's parking lot was already busy, nurses and doctors heading in and out. Ava parked her car in her usual spot. She grabbed her bag and her breakfast, locked the door, and walked toward the main entrance.

Automatic doors slid open, letting in the clean hospital smell. Nurses passed her in the hallway.

"Good morning, Dr. Adams," one of them greeted.

"Morning," Ava replied with a small smile.

Another nurse gave her a little wave and Ava waved back as she walked calmly to her office.

A few seconds later, she opened the door to her office. It was a small, neat room with blue walls, shelves full of medical books, brain charts pinned on a board, and her computer at the center. There was also a skeleton model standing in the corner.

Ava placed her bag on the desk and took out her breakfast and coffee. Before she even took a sip, she powered on her computer to check the night reports of patients.

Just then, a nurse walked in holding a folder.

"Dr. Adams, the results for Mr. Danley's scans came in."

Ava took the folder. "Thank you. I'll check them now."

The nurse nodded and left.

Ava sat down, opened her breakfast container. But before she could take her first bite, her phone rang. Her heart skipped a beat as one thought came to her mind... Ian.

She sighed and answered.

"Hello?" she said.

"Ava!" a cheerful voice replied. It was Clara Humphreys, her friend. "Hey, girl! Are you free tomorrow? It's Saturday... day off! Come with me to Seven Skies headquarters. They're hosting singing auditions and I'm one of the judges. I want you to sit with me as my guest!"

Ava smiled, running her hand through her hair. "Clara... I wish I could go, really. But I have a patient tomorrow."

Clara paused. "Is it Ian?"

"Yes... he needs me. He can't do most things alone."

Clara's excitement faded. "Oh, Ava... I'm sorry. I really hoped you'd come. Well... tell Ian I said I hope he gets better soon."

"I will," Ava said.

"Alright then. Take care, Ava. Call me if you change your mind."

"I will. Thanks, Clara."

The call ended.

Meanwhile, Alexine and Sasha walked side by side along the quiet sidewalk. Sasha hugged her backpack tighter, while Alexine swung hers loosely, mimicking a tune she had heard earlier on the radio.

"Can you believe Mr. Gray gave us homework on a Friday?" Alexine groaned dramatically, tossing her head back. "That man doesn't want us to rest."

Sasha laughed. "You're the one who loves the class."

"Yeah, but I love sleep too," Alexine shot back, grinning.

They kept walking until Alexine suddenly stopped mid-step.

"Oh... wait!" Her eyes widened. "I almost forgot!" She dropped her bag to the front, unzipped it, and dug through a mess of cables, notebooks, and headphone parts. "I knew there was something I wanted to show you yesterday."

She pulled out a folded printed paper and held it up like it was treasure.

Sasha watched her, raising her eyebrows. "What's that?"

"The auditions!" Alexine said, shaking the paper. "The singing auditions at the Seven Skies headquarters... tomorrow! I meant to show you, but Dylan distracted me with his weird love-note nonsense."

Sasha blinked, her curiosity rising. "Let me see."

Alexine handed it over eagerly and Sasha read it slowly, tilting her head a little.

"They're looking for a singer..." She murmured. "Tomorrow at 9 a.m."

"Yes!" Alexine clapped once. "And guess what? You are going."

Sasha lifted her head quickly. "What? Alexine, I... I don't know about that." Her brows narrowed. "Where did you even get this?"

"Dylan," Alexine said, flipping her hand. "He gave me the paper yesterday. He wants me to join the auditions but, Sasha..." She leaned in with a grin. "You know I can't sing to save my life. If I open my mouth on that stage, the judges will jump out the window."

Sasha tried not to smile. "You're not that bad."

"Oh please, I'm terrible," Alexine said proudly. "But Dylan believes in impossible things. That's why I'm giving this to you."

Sasha folded the paper slowly. "I don't know, Alexine... I've never sung in front of a crowd before. What if I mess up? What if they laugh?"

Alexine stopped walking and placed both hands on Sasha's shoulders.

"Sasha..." she said with a smile. "You have a voice that makes people stop and listen. I'm serious. When you sing, even birds come to listen." She nudged Sasha's arm lightly. "You can do this. I believe in you. I always have."

Sasha was unsure whether to look away or laugh. "You really think I should go?"

"I KNOW you should go," Alexine said loudly, throwing her hands in the air. "If you don't, I'll personally drag you there myself. And you know I'll do it. I'm strong."

Sasha shook her head, laughing. "Okay, okay... fine. I'll go."

Alexine cheered, pumping a fist. "YES! That's what I'm talking about. Tomorrow at 9 a.m., superstar Sasha Smith takes the stage!"

"You're too much," Sasha said, but she couldn't hide the smile forming slowly on her lips.

They continued walking toward Melody Lane Music School. Sasha was now quiet, holding the audition flyer close, and Alexine walking beside her with a proud grin.

Maverick Cruz sat alone in his office that morning, elbows on the desk, eyes narrowed at the small packages laid out before him. The room smelled of wine and expensive cologne. He moved each bag closer, checking the seals carefully.

"MDMA... clean," he muttered. He picked up another small packet, holding it to the light. "Coke... strong batch. Seven Skies better pay double for this one."

He pushed the bags into a black duffel bag, whistling as he worked. For a moment, he had forgotten about Channel Holland. Then he reached for his phone and dialed his driver.

The man picked up on the second ring. "Boss?"

"Rico," Maverick said, "I need you to deliver a package to Seven Skies club tonight, no delays."

On the other end, Rico breathed out quickly, like he was already moving. "I'm in the city right now, doing the Bianchi drop. Might take me a little longer, boss."

Maverick's eyes darkened, and he leaned back in his leather chair. "Handle it. I don't care how busy you are. Seven Skies gets theirs tonight."

"Yes, sir," Rico said at once.

"Good," Maverick said. "Don't make me call again."

He ended the call with a tap, tossing the phone onto the desk.

Before he could go back to sorting the last pile, a hard knock hit the door.

Maverick didn't look up. "Enter."

The door opened, and Dallas, his second in command stepped inside. He walked in quickly, straightening his shoulders as he stopped before the desk.

"Boss," Dallas said, catching his breath. "We got news. Channel Holland... she's graduating this morning at Ashford State University. Ceremony starts in ten minutes."

Maverick paused mid-motion, fingers curling around a packet. He slowly set it down, then lifted his gaze.

"So... today might be our chance," he said quietly.

Dallas nodded once. "Just tell me what you want."

Maverick stood from his chair, smoothing down the front of his shirt. "Bring me anything that can hold her DNA. Hair, saliva, sweat, anything. But listen..." He pointed a finger at Dallas. "Do not harm her. Not yet. And don't raise alarms. I don't want anyone panicking, especially her."

Dallas straightened, confidence returning to his face. "You'll have the DNA before the day ends. I promise."

"Good." Maverick waved him off with a flick of his hand. "Go."

Dallas left without another word, closing the door behind him.

Alone again, Maverick let out a slow breath, and he smiled.

"Soon," he murmured to himself, eyes drifting toward the window. "Soon I'll know everything about you, Channel Holland."

He sat back at his desk and pulled the last packets toward him. He worked quickly now, finishing sorting the drugs, but his mind was no longer fully on the job. It was already at Ashford State University, wondering what his men would bring back.

The grand hall of Ashford State University was filled with activity. Graduating students in blue gowns hurried inside, laughing, fixing their caps, waving to family in the rows of seats. Proud parents and excited siblings filled the aisles, taking photos and pointing at their favorites. The air was filled with a mixture of different perfume. There were people holding flowers, and some of the graduating students were having nerves.

Up front, staff members adjusted microphones and sorted their programs. The huge banners hanging from the ceiling - ASHFORD STATE UNIVERSITY CLASS OF THE YEAR - swayed gently from the movement of people.

Charlotte Holland entered through the side door. A soft gasp rose from nearby students when they noticed her. She wore a blue dress and she looked calm with a smile on her face.

Two university officials rushed toward her.

"Mrs. Holland, welcome," one said with a bright smile. "We're honored to have you today."

Charlotte nodded. "Thank you."

They escorted her to the reserved seat at the front row. As she sat, several cameras clicked. Her eyes scanned the hall... searching for her daughter.

The ceremony began with the chancellor stepping on stage and everyone was settled.

"Welcome to this special day..." the chancellor began.

Speech after speech followed; talks about the future, hard work, and pride. Then came the long list of names. Students walked across the stage, shaking hands, taking their moment in the bright light.

Channel Holland stepped on stage to applause that grew louder when Charlotte rose from her seat, clapping proudly. Channel's smile stretched wide; her cheeks couldn't hide her excitement. She received three awards: Academic Excellence in Media Studies, Best Short Film Project, and Leadership Award for Student Community Service.

When she walked off, Charlotte stood waiting and quickly pulled her into a hug. Cameras flashed as they posed together, Channel holding her flowers and certificates, both smiling and looking proud.

Meanwhile, in the crowd, Leon clapped loudly... cheering at almost every name. On the outside, he looked like a friendly stranger enjoying the event. But his stomach twisted, and his hands were sweating.

He kept repeating in his mind: Don't mess this up, Leon. Not for the boss.

He knew Maverick's consequences. He'd seen men lose fingers for "small mistakes." He'd seen one man vanish entirely for failing a simple task.

Leon swallowed hard. He could not afford to fail.

He checked his watch. Almost time.

Leon slowly opened a small wrapper and slipped the gum into his mouth. It was the extra–sticky kind; the kind that clung to anything it touched. He chewed it, feeling it soften, stretch, and turn glue-like.

The final remarks were made, thanking families and staff. People began to clap again, this time knowing it was the end. Charlotte and other high officials were guided out first.

Leon's eyes locked onto Channel as she left the hall laughing with her friends. She carried a huge bouquet and her graduation folder. She had no idea she was being followed.

Leon moved quickly, weaving through the crowd. He could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

He caught up just as Channel turned toward the lawn outside.

He pretended to cough... then purposely spit the gum out.

It flew, landing right on her hair.

Channel froze. "Oh my God... what...?"

Her friends gasped.

Leon rushed forward with his hands up. "I'm so, so sorry! It... it slipped! I was trying to get rid of it... this gum is crazy sticky." He reached for Channel's hair. "Hang on, I'll get it off."

He tugged gently, making a dramatic fuss.

"It's really not a big deal," he told the girls, waving his hands like he was trying to calm a fire. "All we have to do is pluck the hair...simple and painless, I promise!"

Before Channel could protest, Leon gripped the gum and yanked.

"Ow...!" Channel gasped, hand flying to the back of her head.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Leon repeated loudly.

One of Charlotte's security men stepped over quickly. "Miss Holland? Your mother is waiting by the car."

Channel sighed, embarrassed. "Okay, I'm coming."

She turned to Leon. "Next time... just be careful where you throw your gum, okay?"

Leon nodded fast. "Yes... yes, of course. I'm really sorry."

He watched her walk away with her friends, heading toward the parking lot, the security man guiding her. As she got further, Leon slipped the plucked hair still tangled in the gum into a tiny plastic packet.

He grinned.

"That's it," he whispered to himself. "I did my part. Maverick's gonna be happy."

Channel reached her mother's black car and climbed in. Charlotte leaned closer, worried.

"What happened? You look upset."

Channel let out a tired laugh. "Some crazy dude spat gum in my hair."

Charlotte's eyes widened. "Spat? On you?"

"I think it was an accident," Channel said. "It's okay, Mom."

The driver looked back. "Are we ready, ma'am?"

Charlotte kept her eyes on Channel a moment longer, then nodded. "Yes. Take us home."

The car pulled away from the university, leaving the noisy crowd behind.

Maverick's apartment on Gamma Avenue looked exactly like the home of a crime boss. It was a mansion built with dark walls, windows with heavy curtains. There was a glass table covered with files, guns, and old whiskey bottles. A long leather couch sat in front of a giant TV that played muted news, flashing colored lights over the room. The air smelled like cigar smoke and expensive cologne.

Maverick sat on the couch, leaning forward, rolling a silver coin between his fingers. He wasn't watching the TV, and his mind was far ahead.

There was a knock on the door, and Maverick raised his eyes. "Come in."

The door opened, and Dallas stepped inside. He shut the door behind him gently, out of respect and fear.

"Boss," Dallas said, breathing a little fast. "Leon did it. He got the girl's hair."

Maverick straightened immediately. His eyes lit up with excitement. "Show me."

Dallas reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small sealed plastic packet. Inside it was one long, brown strand of hair with the root still attached.

He handed it over with both hands.

Maverick took the packet like it was gold. "Good," he whispered with a slow smile. "Very good."

Dallas stepped back. "Anything else, boss?"

Maverick waved a hand. "No. Go. And make sure no one talks about this."

"Yes, boss." Dallas nodded quickly and turned for the door.

When he left, Maverick let out a low breath, staring at the hair. His smile grew wider.

"Soon," he murmured, "I'll know the truth about you, Channel Holland."

He set the hair packet carefully beside him, then reached for his phone. He scrolled to a name he rarely used; Dr. Michael Jones. The man had been loyal to the Cruz family since Damian Cruz ran the streets.

Maverick pressed call.

After one ring, the doctor answered. "Yes, Maverick?"

"Come to my apartment. Now," Maverick said with no explanation.

Dr. Michael didn't ask questions. "I'm on my way."

The call ended.

Minutes later, another knock sounded at the door.

"Enter," Maverick said, still sitting on the couch.

Dr. Michael walked in wearing a neat suit and carrying a black medical bag. He pushed his glasses up as he looked around quickly.

"Maverick," he greeted.

"Doctor." Maverick stood, handed him the packet with Channel's hair. "Run a DNA test. I want to know if her DNA matches mine."

Dr. Michael nodded, opening his bag. "I will need something from you as well to compare the results."

Maverick didn't hesitate. He reached up, grabbed a small bunch of his own hair, and yanked it out.

"Ow... damn," he muttered.

He handed it to the doctor.

Dr. Michael sealed it in another packet. "The results will be ready in two days."

Maverick's head snapped toward him. "Two days? That long?"

The doctor held up his hands calmly. "If you want real results, Maverick, it must take time. If I rush it, it won't be accurate."

Maverick clenched his jaw, then exhaled slowly through his nose. "Fine. Do it right."

He stepped back. "Go. And make sure the results come to only me."

Dr. Michael nodded. "Understood." Then he turned and left the apartment quietly.

When the door shut, Maverick grabbed his phone again. This time, he called Julian.

Julian answered quickly. The music and crowd noise of the Seven Skies Club played behind him. "Maverick?"

"You can relax," Maverick said, sinking back into his couch. "Channel Holland has been taken care of."

Julian let out a deep breath, clearly relieved. "So she's not coming here tonight?"

"No. Move on with your night."

"Got it."

The last words exchanged were simple.

"Stay sharp," Maverick said.

"Always," Julian replied.

The call ended.

And Maverick leaned back in the dim light with his eyes half-closed.

Two days. Then he would know everything.

Julian leaned back in his chair at Seven Skies with the glass of whiskey in his hand. It was neat, burning quietly down his throat. For a moment, the loud music of the club faded from his mind and a memory crept in.

He saw himself at nine years old, small and wide-eyed, standing beside his father, Weston Styles. Weston's hand had rested on Julian's shoulder as they walked into Damian Cruz's estate. Damian had been alive then, and he was terrifying to most people... but not to Julian. Because on that day, Maverick had been standing beside his father too.

Maverick was twelve, taller, already carrying that confidence of someone who knew he would run the world one day. Julian remembered the way Maverick had looked at him, then suddenly grinned, grabbing a wooden sword off the table.

"You ever fought a pirate?" young Maverick had asked.

Julian had shaken his head. Then they had run off together, yelling, swinging wooden swords around the yard until sunset.

From then on, Julian had followed Maverick like a shadow. Maverick was everything Julian wanted to be; bold, strong, and impossible to scare. Even when Damian died in the car crash, and Maverick stood stiff and broken at the funeral, Julian had stayed right beside him.

And later, when Julian told Maverick he wanted to build a music studio... Startrek Studios... Maverick didn't laugh. He didn't say it was childish. He funded it. He pushed Julian to grow it. He told him he could be more than what Weston wanted him to be.

Back in the club, Julian sighed. The memory washed away as he stared at the face of his expensive wristwatch. It was a limited-edition Vanguard Eclipse; deep black with a thin silver halo around the frame. Maverick had given it to him on his twenty-first birthday a few years ago.

The second hand moved too fast.

"Time's running," Julian muttered under his breath. "And I'm still stuck under someone else."

He was tired... tired of directions, tired of orders. First his father... then Maverick. They both treated him like a boy who needed instructions. They never asked what he wanted. They just told him.

His phone buzzed on the counter. He didn't even need to look. He knew the tone... it was his father.

Julian swallowed hard before he opened the message.

Weston:

Handle the shipment at Blue Harbor tonight. Don't let Cruz take the lead. Make sure you're the one in charge.

Julian stared at the screen. He had expected this. Weston always reached out when he needed something. Never to ask how Julian was doing. Never to check in. Only commands.

Julian rubbed the bridge of his nose, shoulders dropping with frustration.

He typed back:

Julian:

I'll take care of it.

He sent it, placed the phone down, and exhaled slowly.

"I'm so tired of this," he whispered to himself, eyes sinking back into the golden liquid in his glass. He took another slow drink, feeling the burn melt into something like numbness.

And he wondered:

How much longer until I stop living in their shadow?

Meanwhile...

Ava Adams sat on the edge of the bed with her legs tucked under the blanket. Ian lay beside her, eyes half-open, watching her. Ava held a small paperback romantic novel in her hands. She cleared her throat softly and continued reading aloud.

"He touched her hand like it was something breakable... something he had waited his whole life to hold," Ava read gently. "And when she looked up, suddenly the whole world melted around them."

Ian's lips twitched, he tried to smile. His fingers moved slightly, as if trying to show he was listening.

Ava noticed and laughed under her breath.

"You like this part, huh?" she teased him, touching his arm. "See? I told you this book is sweet."

She kept reading with a low voice.

"He whispered her name like a promise... a promise that he would never leave, not even when the sky turned dark."

Ian blinked slowly, the closest thing he had to a nod.

When the chapter ended, Ava closed the book and placed it on the nightstand.

"That's enough romance for tonight," she told him. "I'll read more tomorrow."

She leaned down, kissed his forehead, then his cheek.

"Goodnight, my love."

She turned off the bedside lamp and curled up beside him.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and the sunlight slipped through the curtains, brushing lightly across the bed. Ava stretched and quickly rolled over to Ian. First thing every morning she had to check him.

Her eyes widened as she saw Ian's right hand; the one that had barely moved since the stroke twitched again. Stronger this time. His fingers bent slowly, and his eye followed her movement a bit more clearly.

"Oh my gosh... Ian," she whispered, covering her mouth. "Baby, look at you."

Her voice shook with happiness.

"That's... that's real progress. I knew you were fighting. I knew it."

She touched his cheek, tears forming in her eyes, but she laughed through them.

"You're getting better, Adam. I can see it. I can feel it."

She brushed his hair back and kept talking softly, as if her words alone could bring him back to health.

"Clara invited me today... to that singing audition at Seven Skies HQ," she said with a breathy laugh. "Guest judge, imagine that. But I'm not going. I'm staying right here with you."

Ian stared at her, wishing he could say something.