For a moment, it felt real. The three of them side by side, the sunset painting the world in gold, Ghost’s voice steady in the night.

But memory is a cruel trick.

Jason blinked, and the porch dissolved into sterile white. The hum of machines replaced the chirp of crickets. The shadowed fields gave way to the steady beeping of a monitor.

He was back in the hospital. Back in the place where Ghost hadn’t yet opened his eyes.

The porch was a memory, maybe a dream — one of the many he and Leah clung to, replaying fragments of what they hoped would return.

Because in truth, Ghost still...