Immani lowered herself beside Elena, careful and slow.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Look at me, Elena. Just me.”
Elena’s fingers trembled around the armrest. Her gaze flicked toward Viven automatically, trained, then snapped back like she hated herself for it.
Immani lifted Elena’s blanket just enough to reveal her foot, pale against the dark fabric.
“Can you feel me here?” Immani asked, brushing two fingers lightly over Elena’s sock.
Elena nodded barely.
“Okay,” Immani breathed. “Then try this. Just your toe. Not your whole leg. Not the impossible. Just your toe.”
Fernando leaned forward, hands hovering, terrified to touch her, terrified he’d shatter whatever fragile courage was forming.
“Elena,” he whispered. “If you can… if there’s any part of you that still can… I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
Viven laughed, small and dismissive, trying to turn the moment into a performance.
“You see?” she said. “She can’t. She never could.”
Elena’s brow tightened.
Something changed in her face.
Not comfort.
Defiance.
The kind that costs everything when you’ve been punished for it before.
Her breath hitched, shoulders tensing.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, barely, impossibly, her toe twitched.
Tiny.
A flicker.