The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the world washed but uneasy.

Inside the hospital, the faint scent of disinfectant clung to the air, mixed with the soft rhythm of Adrian’s heart monitor.

He was sitting up now, pale but recovering. Rosemary stood by the window, staring at the gray skyline that stretched beyond St. Clarisse Hospital.

For days, neither of them had spoken about Casandra. The silence between them was not peace — it was fear, disguised as calm.

“Do you really think she’s alive?” Rosemary asked finally, her voice low.

Adrian looked up from his bed. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if she is… she’ll come back...