I woke up feeling like my body had forgotten how to be solid.
Not pain—just weakness. The kind that makes every movement feel delayed, like my limbs are a second behind my thoughts. The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, the quiet heavy in a way that pressed against my chest.
For a moment, I didn't remember where I was.
Then everything came back at once.
The fall.
The wings.
The fighting.
Stephanie.
My heart started racing, and I forced myself to slow my breathing, one shallow inhale at a time. I pushed myself up on my elbows and immediately regretted it. The room tilted, my vision blurring at the edges.
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Slow."
I let myself sink back into the pillows.
My phone sat on the nightstand within reach. I stared at it, suddenly unsure of what I was supposed to do with it. My fingers hovered, then dropped back to the sheets.
Who would I even call?
Jonathan was always there—but calling him felt… complicated now. Heavy with things unsaid and emotions I didn't know how to hold yet.
Ethan would answer. I knew that. He always did. But the thought of hearing his voice made my chest ache in a different way—gentler, quieter, but no less confusing.
And Oscar—
No.
I closed my eyes, overwhelmed.
I had been through too much in too short a time. Too many truths. Too many forces pulling at me from different directions, each one asking something without saying it out loud.
What scared me most wasn't the danger.
It was the realization that my heart had somehow made room for two impossibilities at once.
Jonathan, with his darkness and devotion, his love heavy with consequence.
Ethan, with his steadiness and care, his presence wrapped around my life like quiet protection.
An Angel of Death.
An Angel of Life.
And me—human, fragile, expected to feel something that made sense.
Tears slipped down my temples, uninvited.
I didn't know what to feel.
The door opened softly.
I looked up just as Stephanie stepped inside.
She hadn't changed. Still looked exactly the way she always had—twenty-two forever, untouched by time in the cruel way it had touched me. Seeing her still made my chest tighten, but this time it didn't knock the air out of me.
"Hey," she said gently. "You're awake."
I nodded, and that was all it took.
The tears came hard and fast, my body folding inward as the weight I'd been holding finally broke free. I covered my face with my hands, sobbing in a way I hadn't let myself do since before everything unraveled.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I cried. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel anymore."
Stephanie was at my side instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling me into her arms. She didn't rush me. Didn't shush me. Just held me the way she always had when I was younger—firm, grounding, safe.
"I know," she murmured into my hair. "You've been carrying too much by yourself."
I clung to her, my fingers twisting into her sleeve like I was afraid she'd disappear if I let go.
"I feel broken," I whispered. "Like my heart doesn't belong anywhere anymore."
Stephanie leaned back just enough to look at me, her hands warm on my arms.
"You're not broken," she said softly. "You're overwhelmed."
"It doesn't feel the same."
"That's because you're trying to solve something that doesn't need solving right now."
I frowned weakly. "What do you mean?"
"You think you have to choose," she said. "Between feelings. Between people. Between forces bigger than you."
I swallowed. "Don't I?"
"No," she said firmly. "Not today."
Her certainty steadied something inside me.
"You don't need to decide anything," Stephanie continued. "You don't need to define your heart, justify it, or lock it into one truth. All you need to do right now is rest."
I laughed shakily. "That sounds too simple."
"It is simple," she replied. "That doesn't mean it's easy."
I wiped at my face. "I have class tomorrow."
"I know."
"And Ethan will be there."
"Yes."
My stomach twisted. "I don't know how to face him."
Stephanie smiled gently. "With honesty."
I looked at her. "That's terrifying."
"I know," she said again. "But it's also kind."
She brushed her thumb under my eye, wiping away the last of my tears.
"You don't owe him certainty," she said. "You owe him truth. Even if that truth is, 'I don't know what I feel yet.'"
I thought about Ethan's calm presence, the way he listened, the way he never demanded more than I could give.
"That won't hurt him?" I asked.
"Uncertainty hurts less than silence," Stephanie said. "Especially to someone whose purpose is to preserve life, not complicate it."
I exhaled slowly.
"And Jonathan?" I asked quietly.
Her expression softened. "Jonathan will be with you whether you understand your feelings or not."
"That's… a lot."
"It is," she agreed. "But it's also not something you have to manage tonight."
She shifted, tucking the blankets more securely around me.
"Sleep," she said. "Let your body catch up to your heart."
I nodded, exhaustion finally pulling at me.
As my eyes drifted closed, one last fear surfaced.
"What if I make the wrong choice?" I whispered.
Stephanie squeezed my hand.
"Then we'll deal with it together," she said. "But tonight, there is no wrong choice. There's only rest."
The tension in my chest eased just a little.
For the first time since everything began unraveling, I let myself believe one thing:
I didn't have to know everything yet.
I didn't have to choose between life and death, light and shadow, safety and love.
Not today.
Today, I just had to survive long enough to wake up tomorrow—
And be honest.