HERMIONE
The ride from the airport to the hospital is a blur. I can barely feel Dylan's hand gripping mine or hear Claire and Lia murmuring comfort from the back seat. All I hear is the voice of Seraphine's mother on the phone—cracked, urgent, trembling with something between joy and fear.
"She's awake… Hermione, she's asking for you."
Seraphine is alive.
I repeat it in my head like a prayer, like a mantra. Like I still don't believe it.
Alive.
We pull into the private hospital's driveway in D.C., sleek and cold under early morning clouds. The valet doesn't even get a chance to open the door before I'm out of the car, running past glass doors and confused receptionists with Dylan and Daniel right behind me.
Claire grabs my hand. "She's really awake?"
"I don't know how," I whisper. "But I'm not questioning it."
Lia covers her mouth, her voice already breaking. "God, I missed her…"
The hallway smells like antiseptic and mint. Room 412. I don't wait for the nurse to finish checking her chart. I push the door open.
And there she is.
Seraphine Laurent. My best friend. Her skin is pale, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion, a tube still in her arm and bruises trailing down her collarbone like faded scars.
But she's awake.
Sitting up in bed.
And smiling.
"Hey," she says softly, her voice rasping like dry paper. "You look like hell."
I burst into tears and rush to her side, dropping to my knees beside the bed as I grip her hand. "You idiot. You absolute miracle of a human."
Her fingers squeeze mine weakly. "Had to come back. Couldn't leave you guys to deal with that psycho alone."
Claire pushes past me, sobbing openly now. "You were dead. They said you were dead!"
"They were wrong," Seraphine whispers, trying to smile. "I'm stubborn. Always have been."
Lia pulls the nearest chair and sits down like her knees just gave out. "I don't care how it happened. You're here. You're alive."
Seraphine looks around the room, her gaze softening. "Where's Hermione's terrifying billionaire boyfriend? He owe me flowers."
"I'm right here," Dylan says, stepping forward with Daniel beside him. "And you'll get more than flowers."
Daniel clears his throat. "We'll… give you guys a minute."
The boys step out, leaving the room in a hush of beeping monitors and quiet joy.
Seraphine turns to me. "I asked for you first."
"Why?" I ask, already tearing up again.
"Because I remembered everything," she says, her voice trembling now. "She thought she killed me. Isabelle. Or Niah. Whatever her name is. I saw her. I remember it all. She was going to leave me in that house to burn."
A sharp gasp leaves Claire's mouth.
"But I rolled out the back door," Seraphine continues. "I was barely conscious. I don't know how I survived. But I did. Someone found me later, called 911. I've been in a coma ever since. But you kept coming back. I heard your voices sometimes. Hermione, you never gave up."
My heart splinters in every direction.
"No. I never did," I whisper. "And I never will."
She closes her eyes briefly, as if overwhelmed by even just being awake.
"I don't want to sleep anymore," she murmurs. "I want to live."
Claire sniffles and climbs into the bed beside her, hugging her carefully. "Then live. Live with us."
Lia joins her, arms wrapping around all of us. For a moment, the room is filled with warmth and love and quiet crying.
And when I glance back at the door, I see Dylan watching from the hallway.
I see the look of awe on his face.
He knows—he sees it too.
This is what survival looks like.
This is what love can do.