The intensive care unit was unnaturally quiet.
Machines hummed softly in the background, monitors blinked in steady rhythms, and pale morning sunlight filtered through the half-closed blinds, replacing the rain that had battered the city throughout the night.
Noah had been unconscious for nearly twelve hours.
Aiden hadn't left the hospital.
Despite the nurses insisting he needed proper rest, despite Matthew threatening to drag him to another room himself, despite Vinny arriving with fresh clothes and enough food to feed an army, Aiden remained outside Noah's room.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Curled awkwardly in an uncomfortable chair beside the ICU doors, his head resting against the wall, he fell asleep with the little girl's drawing still tucked safely inside his jacket pocket.
His sleep wasn't peaceful.
He dreamed of smoke.
Of warehouses collapsing.
Of Victor's smile.
Of reaching for Noah's hand only to watch it disappear into darkness.
Then...
"Aiden?"
