Zhou Yuxi sat for a moment, just looking at him.
At her husband.
Who she'd been married to for—she glanced at the clock on the wall, the red digital numbers stark against the white face—nine hours and forty-three minutes.
Who had tried to follow her into the ocean.
Who had broken apart so completely that his body had forced him to stop.
"Yunchen," she said softly, testing the name, seeing if it would reach him through whatever fog the sedative had wrapped around his mind. Her voice was barely above a whisper, meant only for him.
Nothing.
The monitors continued their steady beeping, a quiet metronome keeping time with his heartbeat, each beep a small reassurance that he was still here, still fighting.
