Healing didn't happen with a grand gesture.
It came slowly, like dawn creeping over a battlefield after the fires had burned out.
In the weeks following Jake's recovery, Samantha's world shifted—not violently, not dramatically, but in subtle, unmistakable ways.
For the first time in years, she slept.
Not the shallow, brittle sleep of survival.
Real sleep.
Dreamless.
Peaceful.
Sometimes she woke to find Jake sitting on the edge of her sofa, reviewing documents or sipping coffee, keeping watch without saying a word.
"You're supposed to be resting," she muttered one morning, rubbing her eyes.
"You're supposed to stop worrying when I'm not in your line of sight," Jake replied, smiling softly.
She threw a pillow at him.
He caught it—barely—with his still-recovering reflexes.
They laughed, and the sound filled the penthouse in a way that made everything feel less haunted.
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Working Side by Side
