The hospital lights washed over everything in sterile white.
My father lay in a recovery bed, hooked up to monitors, and heavily bandaged, but alive. When he saw me enter, he sat up and burst into tears, pulling me into a crushing embrace despite his injuries.
"I thought-" he choked. "God, Atrea, I thought I'd never see you again."
I held him tighter than I ever had in my life.
"I'm okay," I whispered. "I'm okay, Dad."
He cupped the back of my head and pressed his forehead against mine.
"No," he murmured. "You're not. But you will be."
I cried then, quietly, into his shirt, while Skyla and my team watched from the doorway like a second family.
Hours later, I sat in a small conference room at the hospital, sipping water while a PAP official debriefed me.
"Team Plasma's splinter cell is effectively dismantled," she said. "Colress is deceased, and Marcus Sinclair... well." She hesitated. "We found what was left of him. Whatever did that was... beyond anything we've classified. He is being charged with a litany of crimes, the most serious ones being Terrorism and Attempted Murder. He's catatonic and will spend the rest of his life in a high-security mental institute."
I looked down at my hands, still trembling faintly.
Later that night, after Dad fell asleep and the chaos finally settled, I slipped out onto the empty hospital balcony.
The Denver skyline glittered in the distance.
Skyla stepped out beside me and brushed a lock of hair from my face.
"You ready?" she asked softly.
"For what?" I whispered.
She nodded toward the mountains.
"You've got a score to settle."
"You mean I've got some training to do."
She nodded in assent.
Let's get some sleep, and we'll get on that tomorrow. I know a great place."
We hugged and returned to the hotel. I slept better than I'd ever slept before, and I was ready for the day of training we planned for tomorrow.