The transport descended through clouds Arin didn't see.
His eyes were on Lina. Her face was still, her breathing shallow but even. The monitor beside her beeped in a rhythm he had memorized hours ago. Slow. Steady. Present.
He hadn't let go of her hand.
The transport settled. The ramp lowered. Cold air rushed in, clean and scentless.
Voss appeared at the opening. "We're here."
Arin didn't move.
Maya touched his shoulder. "She needs to be inside. Let them look at her."
He looked at Lina. At the faint marks on her arms, fading but not gone. At the slow rise of her chest.
He released her hand.
The facility was white.
White walls. White floors. White light that came from everywhere and nowhere. The air was still. The silence pressed.
Two medics met them at the entrance. Their faces were calm, professional. They moved quickly, transferring Lina to a floating stretcher, checking her vitals, speaking in low tones Arin couldn't follow.
One of them turned to him. "She's stable. We'll run a full assessment."
Arin moved to follow.
A hand stopped him. Voss.
"Let them work."
He watched the stretcher disappear through a set of doors. The doors closed without sound.
The waiting room was small. A single window looked out at grey sky. Chairs lined the walls, too clean to be comfortable.
Hana sat with her eyes closed, her hands resting on her knees. Maya checked her kit, then set it aside, then checked it again. Dmitri stood by the door. Ren leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Arin stood at the window.
Minutes passed. Or hours. He couldn't tell.
The doors opened.
A woman in white stepped through. Older. Her hair was grey, her face lined with something that wasn't age. She carried a tablet.
"She's stable," she said. "No organ failure. No internal damage."
Arin turned. "Then why isn't she awake?"
The woman's eyes didn't waver. "Her body is healing. But her energy readings—they're not matching expected patterns."
"What does that mean?"
She looked at her tablet. "There's an absence where there should be presence. Something isn't responding."
Hana's eyes opened. "A gap."
The woman glanced at her. "Yes."
They let Arin see her.
The room was small. White. Machines lined the walls, their screens glowing with numbers Arin didn't understand. Lina lay on a bed in the center, a thin blanket over her. Her face was calm. Her hands rested at her sides.
He sat beside her.
The marks on her arms were almost gone now. Just faint traces, like old scars.
Her chest rose. Fell.
He took her hand.
Her fingers rested in his.
Warm.
But not… responsive.
Not limp.
Not tense.
Just… still.
Like they were waiting for something that hadn't returned yet.
"You're still here," he said quietly.
The monitor beeped. Slow. Steady.
Hana found him there an hour later.
She stood in the doorway, not entering. Her face was pale.
"I tried to feel her again," she said.
Arin looked up. "And?"
"She's there," Hana said softly.
A pause.
"But something inside her is… quiet."
Arin frowned. "Quiet?"
Hana nodded slowly.
"Not asleep. Not gone."
Her voice dropped.
"Just… not answering."
Arin looked back at Lina. "The doctors said the same thing."
Hana didn't respond.
She left without another word.
The monitor beeped.
Arin had lost track of time. The light outside the window had shifted from grey to darker grey. The room was quiet.
He was watching Lina's face when it happened.
The monitor skipped.
One beat. Missing.
Then it resumed. Slow. Steady.
Arin's chest tightened. He stood, leaned closer. Her breathing hadn't changed. Her face was still.
The monitor continued its rhythm. Normal.
He waited.
It didn't happen again.
But he didn't sit back down.
Voss appeared at the door.
She stood for a moment, looking at Lina, then at Arin.
"She's stable," Voss said. "The doctors will monitor her."
"They don't know what's wrong."
Voss didn't deny it. She stepped closer, her voice low.
"This wasn't supposed to happen this early."
Arin turned. "What?"
Voss's face was unreadable. "Rest. We'll talk later."
She left before he could ask more.
Arin sat back down.
He took Lina's hand again. Her fingers were warm. Her breathing was steady.
The monitor beeped. Slow. Steady.
He watched her face.
The marks on her arms were almost invisible now. Almost.
Something that should be there isn't.
He stayed.
The room grew darker. The machines hummed.
He didn't move.
Lina's fingers shifted.
Barely.
Almost nothing.
Arin didn't notice.