(Keifer's POV)
Time didn't move.
It just sat there.
Heavy.
Dragging itself through every second.
No one spoke much.
No one left.
We stayed where we were—eyes on the same door, waiting for something… anything.
Then—
the door opened.
I stood up instantly.
The doctor stepped out, removing his gloves, scanning the area briefly before his eyes settled on us.
"Who's with the patient?" he asked.
Aries stepped forward first.
"I'm her brother."
A pause.
Then I spoke.
"I'm with her."
Angelo and Percy stepped up beside us.
The doctor looked at all of us for a second, measuring, then gave a short nod.
"Come with me."
We followed him down the corridor.
No one spoke.
The sound of our footsteps echoed slightly, too loud in the quiet space.
He stopped outside a cabin and pushed the door open, stepping inside.
We followed.
"Sit," he said, moving behind his desk.
None of us really did.
We stayed standing.
Waiting.
"How is she?" Aries asked, his voice tight but controlled.
The doctor looked at him first—
then at the rest of us.
"She's stable for now," he said.
That word again.
For now.
"She had internal bleeding," he continued, opening the file in front of him. "Caused by a strong impact to the abdomen."
My jaw tightened.
"She also has trauma to the spleen," he added. "That's what caused most of the pain and bleeding."
Silence.
No one interrupted.
"When she was brought in," he went on, "her condition was serious. Her pulse was weak, breathing uneven—she was close to going into shock."
I looked down for a second.
Because I saw that.
Every second of it.
"She must have been in pain for quite some time before arriving," the doctor said.
Not a question.
A fact.
The room felt heavier.
Because we all knew—
she didn't show it fully.
She held it in.
The doctor's tone shifted slightly.
Still calm.
But more direct.
"The level of pain she was tolerating…" he paused briefly, "is not something an average person can sustain for long."
No one moved.
"She remained conscious through most of it," he added. "Which means she was actively suppressing the pain."
My hands clenched at my sides.
Because that sounded exactly like her.
Percy spoke this time, quieter than usual.
"If she wakes up…?"
The doctor looked at him.
"She will feel pain," he said honestly. "Not at the same intensity as before, but still significant."
"How much?" Angelo asked.
"Enough that movement will be difficult," the doctor replied. "Even small actions—like sitting up, or deep breathing—will hurt."
Aries looked away slightly, his jaw tight.
"She's been given medication," the doctor continued, "but recovery will take time. She'll need complete rest. No strain."
A pause.
Then—
"She's strong," Percy said quietly.
The doctor gave a small nod.
"She is," he agreed. "But strength doesn't cancel pain."
That line stayed.
Hung in the air.
Because we all knew—
she didn't show how much it hurt.
She just endured it.
And maybe—
that made it worse.
The room stayed quiet after the doctor finished speaking. No one asked anything else. Not because there were no questions, but because none of us wanted to hear more answers.
I looked at him after a moment. "Can we see her?" I asked, my voice steady, even if everything inside me wasn't.
He paused briefly, then gave a small nod. "For a few minutes," he said. "She's still under observation. She may not be fully conscious."
That was enough.
We didn't say anything else. We just followed him out.
The corridor felt longer this time. Quieter. Every step echoing slightly, every second stretching just a little more than it should.
No one spoke. We all knew what we were walking toward.
After a few turns, he stopped in front of a closed door. "She's inside," he said, then looked at us again. "Keep it calm. She needs rest."
I nodded once.
My hand moved to the handle, stopping there for a second. Not because I didn't want to go in, but because I knew the moment I did, everything would feel real again.
I didn't wait longer.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The door opened quietly.
The room was still.
Too still.
Machines hummed softly in the background, the only sound breaking the silence.
My eyes went straight to her.
Jay.
She was lying there, almost motionless.
An oxygen mask covered her face, her breathing uneven beneath it, like even that needed help. Tubes and wires surrounded her, everything about the scene feeling wrong.
And her…
She looked small.
Too small for that bed.
Too small for everything she had just been through.
I stepped closer without thinking, my eyes not leaving her for a second.
Her eyes were half open.
Not focused.
Not fully there.
"Jay…" I said quietly.
No answer.
Not even a slight movement.
My chest tightened.
I moved closer, stopping right beside her, looking down at her face.
Up close—
it was worse.
The pale look, the faint strain still there, the way her body barely moved except for those uneven breaths.
"My baby…" I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Soft.
Careful.
Like I was afraid even saying it would hurt her.
I reached for her hand slowly, making sure not to disturb anything, not to cause her more pain.
Her fingers were cold.
Weak.
I held them gently, my thumb brushing lightly over her skin.
"I'm here," I murmured.
My voice dropped even more, almost a whisper meant only for her.
Her eyes shifted slightly.
Just a little.
Not fully reacting.
But enough.
That small movement hit harder than anything.
Because she heard me.
Somewhere, she heard me.
"Hey…" I said softly, leaning a little closer. "You don't have to do anything. Just rest."
Her breathing faltered for a second before continuing, still uneven, still fragile.
I tightened my hold on her hand just a little, careful, grounding.
"You're okay," I whispered. "I've got you."
My other hand moved gently to her face, brushing a few strands of hair away, slow and careful, like she might break if I wasn't.
Because right now—
it felt like she could.
I looked at her for a long second.
At how much she had held in.
At how much she had endured without saying it.
At how she still tried to protect me—
even when she was the one hurting.
My jaw tightened.
"I'm sorry…" I murmured quietly.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
Because I knew.
No matter what anyone said—
she was here like this—
because of me.
I leaned a little closer, my forehead almost touching hers, careful of the mask.
"Just stay, okay?" I whispered. "That's all you have to do."
Her fingers twitched faintly in my hand.
Weak.
Barely there.
But enough.
Enough to tell me—
she was still here.
And I wasn't letting her go.