He dreamed of his mother again.

Not a shadow or a blur - her, the way memory keeps someone when you do your best not to forget. The small yard behind their house. A line of wet clothes on a rope. Sunlight blinking on droplets. She stood there with her sleeves rolled, younger, laughing at something he could not hear. Then the sound came late, like it had to cross water to reach him.

"Hold steady" she said, and brushed his hair back from his eyes with the back of her fingers. Warm, quick, simple.

He knew it was a dream. He knew because there was no wind, and because the smell of fish and soap arrived after her touch, like the world was catching up seconds late. He tried to hold the moment anyway.

"Mom…" he said, and the word made the light wobble.

He woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth. The Med Wing ceiling was patient and plain. The room carried that clean scent of alcohol and metal. He let the breath out slow and waited for the pain to name itself. It did - ribs, shoulder, a line under the right collarbone, a bruise that felt as big as a plate under his skin. All still there. All quieter than yesterday.

He turned his head. The window held a dark city and a slice of sky. The Spire wasn't visible from here.

He rubbed a hand over his face. His hair fell forward. It had grown again - darker gold than it used to be, longer. It brushed his cheek and kept going. He caught it, tested the length between finger and thumb, and made a small sound that was almost a laugh.

"Alright" he said to nobody.

He looped his hair back with clumsy fingers and tied it low. The knot was rough but it held. The mirror in the cabinet glass gave him a quick ghost of himself. Every mark was a cost he had chosen to pay.

Arashi's words struck the quiet like a pebble: third window past med storage. Best view of the Spire. Looks like a spear someone forgot to pull out of the world.

He looked at the door. The room listened.

"Just to look" he told the room, which did not argue.

He swung his legs over the side. The cold floor touched his feet. He waited for the first wave of pain to crest and drop. When it did, he steadied a hand on the rail and stood. The gown hung open a little at the neck. The air found his skin and made it honest.

The monitors blinked in green, patient as tides. He reached for the sensors one by one and peeled them free. Tape came away with a soft stick-sound. The last one let go with a small sting. The lines on the screen flickered, then flattened. The long tone arrived, thin and steady.

It sounded wrong immediately.

He turned the volume down until it was a whisper. The flat line stayed - a quiet white line on the small screen. He tried not to think about what it meant from the nurses' window down the hall.

"Just a minute" he said, which did not fix anything.

The door slid open. The corridor was almost darker than day, lit by the blue bars of night cycle lamps. The Med Wing slept. Most rooms were empty. This wing was for Vanguards and cadets - and for once, he was the only one who had needed it longer than the others.

He moved. Small steps. The bruised side complained in a polite voice that promised to get louder if he pushed. He didn't. The floor gave back a quiet squeak at every step. The glass panes of the rooms reflected slivers of him - a pale face, a bandaged wrist, hair tied back.

Med storage came up on the left - a brushed steel door with a code panel and a tiny square window. He counted as he passed. One window. Two. He slowed at the third one.

The room was mostly empty, it didn't really seem used. He stepped up to the window and put both hands on the rail that ran along the glass at chest height. Cool against his palms. He leaned slightly, careful of the ribs.

The city opened up before him like a map. From this angle the Spire was the only thing that mattered. It climbed out of the dark and went on until the darkness took it, a single clean line with small lights along its sides like beads on a wire. Dots moved along Warden patrols far below - tiny, almost not there.

He watched until the thought stopped being words. Awe came in like a tide and left. In its place was a steady, quiet weight he recognized - memory, gratitude, the shape of a vow he had made enough times that it did not need speaking anymore.

"Hold steady, huh…?" he said, and could not tell if he was quoting her or instructing himself.

A hand closed on his shoulder.

Not a tap. Not a gentle brush. A real grip that set the muscles under his skin into a line.

"Kori?" he said without turning. "Alright… Caught me. I was wrong. The second window is definitely better."

Silence answered. The grip tightened a fraction.

He turned.

Hikari stood there in the blue light, hair loose, face set. Her hand on him looked wrong only because he knew how gentle it could be. The fingers were small, the skin smooth from constant care. But the pressure was not. He had been grabbed by strong opponents and pulled a lot in the rust room. This was stronger.

"You cannot be serious" she said. Her voice stayed level. Her eyes were not level at all.

He held his free hand up, palm out. "Visit to the window" he said. "I will be back before anyone notices."

"I noticed" she said.

"You do not count" he said, trying a smile he did not feel.

"Why?"

"Because you notice everything."

It did not land. The line of her jaw told him that much.

She looked past him to the glass. The Spire painted a thin white line across her eyes. She blinked once, slow, then back to him.

"You took the sensors off" she said.

He looked down at his chest out of habit. The small adhesive circles were pale moons on his skin. A few had curled edges. He had done a neat job. Not neat enough.

"Only for a minute" he said.

"I… I thought… I thought you were dead!" she finally managed to say.

The hallway swallowed the sound. It was not loud. It did not need to be. All the air in the corridor found a new place to sit.

He opened his mouth and closed it. He tried again. "I am sorry" he said.

She let the breath out in a single slow ribbon. The grip stayed on his shoulder for a heartbeat longer, then softened into a human hold instead of a clamp. The change hurt more than the pressure had.

"Back to bed" she said.

He nodded. They stood there for half a second neither of them tried to measure. Then he turned. She walked beside him without touching. He felt her there the way you feel a ledge you are walking along. He kept his steps small. She did not rush him.

At the door he meant to open it with his forearm. Her hand was there first. The door slid, and the room took them in.

He sat carefully. The bed answered his weight with a quiet spring tone. He set his hands on his thighs and waited for the pain to settle into the shape he could bear.

Hikari moved like rain on still water - every touch precise, nothing wasted. She watched him pick up each sensor, checked the contact, and pressed it back to his skin. The tape smoothed under her thumb in a neat line. The monitor woke. Green returned in small pulses and steady steps.

She checked the number on the screen, then his face. Her expression had calmed, but the edges were still thin.

"I did not mean to scare you" he said.

"You did" she said. "Don't do it again."

He nodded. "I will ask next time."

"Good" she said.

He glanced at her hand. "You have a very strong grip."

"Yes" she said. "I was angry."

"Because you were scared."

She did not answer that. Her mouth moved like she might. She chose not to.

"Get some sleep" she said.

"I will."

She nodded. There was a second where she looked like she might say more. Then she did what she always did - kept it simple.

"Good night."

"Night. And sorry. Again" he said.

She turned and went. The door closed behind her with the soft seal he was starting to memorize.

The monitor kept time. He let his shoulders drop. The Spire's glow still touched the edge of the window from here, just a faint reminder that the city kept breathing without him.

The door slid again. He did not startle. The footsteps told him to expect the person before he saw them - measured, quiet, a little too even to be casual.

Kori stepped in. She didn't come close. She stood at the foot of the bed and put her hands behind her back.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" she asked.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.