Epilogue
KNOX
My boots pound against the metal stairs, each step a heartbeat closer to her.
Medical room.
My lungs burn, but I don’t slow down.
Paris is awake.
Three days of her lying there, pale as death, while Vivian pumped her full of antibiotics and painkillers and whatever the fuck else to keep her breathing.
Three days of me sitting beside her bed, watching her fight nightmares I couldn’t chase away.
And now she’s awake the second I step away to get coffee, asking for me. That’s what Dante said, bursting into the kitchen.
I take the last flight three steps at a time, ignoring the protest in my still-healing ribs. Mike did a number on both of us. Bastard might be dead, but his ghost lingers in every breath that sends knives through my side. Worth it. Every broken bone and bruise worth the price of getting her out.
The corridor stretches before me, industrial lights flickering overhead. I slow as I approach the door, trying to catch my breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Can’t let her see me panicked.
Ah. Fuck that.
I yank the door open and freeze.
Paris sits propped against white pillows, her skin nearly the same shade. She’s too thin, too fragile, but her eyes… those beautiful green eyes find mine instantly, lighting up with recognition that sends a jolt straight to my soul.
“Knox.” My name on her lips sounds like salvation.
“Princess.” I cross the room in four strides, barely registering Vivian checking monitors in the corner. “Hey.”
Paris’s hand reaches for mine, and I take it, my fingers enveloping hers.
Her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. “I was starting to think you’d left me again.”
“Not a chance. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck. But the driver was nice enough to back up and run me over again, just to be thorough.”
I can’t help but grin. Four months of torture, and she’s still got that spark.
My girl.
Her free hand presses gingerly against her side. “How long was I out?”
“Three days. Punctured lung. Internal bleeding. Vivian had to operate.” My throat closes around the words. Vivian said the blood loss alone should've killed her twice over, but Paris is healing faster than any normal person could. Like Gavin. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Pretty inconsiderate of me.”
“Yeah. Real selfish move.”
Her attention shifts to the diamond still on her finger. “Still fits. I thought I might have dreamed it.”
“Not a dream.” I perch on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her. “Though maybe my timing was shit.”
“I loved it.” Her finger traces the diamond’s edge. “Best apocalypse proposal ever.”
“That’s a low bar.”
“I’ll take it.” She tries to sit up higher, wincing.
“Easy.” I adjust her pillows. “Moving’s optional for a while.”
Her gaze darts around the room, taking in the concrete walls, the medical equipment, the small window showing a slice of forest beyond. “So this is Iron Gate?”
“The medical room. Not exactly the grand tour I planned.”
“Better than Gabriel’s lab.” Her voice catches on her brother’s name. “Is he really… And Min-ji?”
“We don’t know.”
“Mike?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s feeding worms, thanks to you.” I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “You saved my life.”
Her free hand reaches for my face, fingertips light against the fading bruises on my jaw. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.” Lie. Everything fucking hurts, but it’s nothing compared to watching her fade in that SUV, blood on her lips as she whispered my name.
“I want to see the rest of it.” She shifts again. “Iron Gate. Where you live. Where we’ll live.”
“When you’re stronger.”
Her eyes meet mine, that stubborn fire flickering behind them. “Now.”
“Viv?”
She glances up from the monitors, assessing Paris with that clinical detachment I’ve come to both respect and hate. Respect because it’s kept people alive when emotions would’ve gotten in the way. Hate because right now it’s directed at Paris.
“Ten minutes. Wheelchair only. No stairs.” Vivian’s tone brooks no argument, but Paris’s face lights up like she handed her the fucking moon.
Correction: Hate because I want my lovely princess to have that expression because of me.
“I’ll take it.” Paris tries to swing her legs off the bed.
“Slow down.” I catch her shoulders as she sways, face going three shades paler. “The island isn’t going anywhere.”
“Island?” Her voice pitches higher than normal. “Like, surrounded by water and all that?”
“Yeah, princess. Island.” I try not to smile at her wide-eyed panic. “Zombies can’t swim. At least not that I know of.”
“Neither can I.”
“That’s what boats are for.” I place my arm behind her back. “And me.”
Vivian wheels a chair over, giving me a look that says ‘be careful or I’ll sedate you both.’ “Keep her warm. And for God’s sake, don’t let Dante bombard her with questions about his conspiracy theories.”
“Got it. No Dante, no stairs, no freezing to death.” I ease Paris into the chair, every single bone of her digging into my hands. I’m gonna find that fucker Gabriel and feed him his own intestines if he’s still alive. In the meantime, I’ll make sure she gains back every pound and then some.
“And Knox?” Vivian’s hand catches my arm as I straighten. “She’s still healing. Don’t… overtax her.”
“Got it.” I clear my throat. “Understood.”
“I want to see everything,” Paris says.
I tap her nose. “Ten minutes gets you the mess hall and maybe the garden if you’re lucky.”
“I am lucky.” She flashes me a bright smile. “I’m here with you.”
Something breaks and heals in my chest all at once. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in her familiar scent beneath the hospital soap—Flowers. That floral essence that’s purely Paris, unchanged despite four months of captivity.”
“Alright, princess. Your guided tour of zombie apocalypse paradise begins now.”
I maneuver Paris’s wheelchair through the medical building’s narrow doorway, squeezing us out into the crisp morning air. It will do her good. The island breeze hits immediately, carrying that mix of salt and pine that still feels like freedom to me after all these months.
“Wow,” she whispers, taking in the compound. “So this is your super-secret zombie-proof community. It’s beautiful.”
“Wait till you see the rest.” I wheel her down the gentle slope back around to the main lodge. “Garden’s around back. Solar panels to the south. We’ve got about thirty people now.”
Her head swivels, taking in the cabins nestled among trees, smoke curling from chimneys, people moving leisurely, rather than in fear.
“You built all this?”
“Found it. Fixed it. Defended it.” I pause by a flowering bush that Sofia’s been cultivating. “Here, smell.”
She leans forward, inhaling the sweet scent of the pale blue flowers. “Smells like… before.”
I continue pushing toward the mess hall, where breakfast is winding down. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
Someone leaves the mess hall, holding the door for us and revealing the long tables filled with people finishing their meals while talking and laughing. Heads turn as we enter, curious eyes landing on Paris.
Her shoulders hunch.
“It’s okay,” I say. “They’re just nosy bastards.”
She relaxes slightly, but then perks up, her spine going rigid. “I know them.”
“What?” I follow her gaze across the room, where Liv and Walsh sit huddled over cups of coffee.
“Those two.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “They’re the ones I saw. The ones—” She turns, eyes narrowing. “You said you didn’t know them.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten about that particular lie. “I might have… stretched the truth.”
“You lied. You knew exactly who they were.”
Walsh spots us, nudging Liv, who regards us with that trademark blank face.
“Yes.” I crouch beside Paris’s chair. “They were looking for me. If I’d admitted it then…”
“You would’ve left.”
“And missed out on your pasta? Not a chance.”
Her eyes shine with tears. “You—”
“I’m sorry.” I cup her cheek. “I’m a selfish asshole.”
Her laugh breaks through the tension, but it’s cut short by a wince. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I want pancakes. Do they have pancakes here? I’ve been dreaming about them.”
“Even our apocalypse paradise has standards.” I straighten, my hand lingering on her shoulder. “We can make that happen.”
Walsh and Liv move toward us, Liv’s face remaining impassive, and Walsh’s face breaking into that shit-eating grin that usually means I’m about to get my ass handed to me verbally.
“The mysterious woman has awakened.” Walsh stops at a respectful distance from Paris’s chair. “I’m Walsh. This is Liv.”
“We’ve met,” Paris murmurs. Now, she’s shy? “Sort of. Through Bino.”
“Bino?” His eyebrows shoot up as he exchanges glances with Liv. “That a—”
“Binoculars,” I say. “She was checking the streets.”
Liv’s mouth twitches, the closest she gets to smiling most days.
“Were you looking for him?” Paris points at me.
“He has a habit of not checking in.” Walsh shoots me a look. “We thought the worst when he didn’t return.”
“He was busy falling off my fire escape,” Paris says.
He barks out a laugh. “That’s not what he told us.”
“Walsh,” I growl.
“So you’re his friends?” Paris asks.
“Closest thing to family he’s got.” His eyes drop to the diamond on her finger. “Until now, apparently.”
I brace for the inevitable shit-storm of questions and jokes.
“About time, Sullivan,” is all he says.
Liv studies Paris. “You killed Mike?”
Paris stiffens in the chair. “I-uh—Yes.”
“Thank you.” Liv extends her hand. “Had that fucker on my list from the last time we ran into him.”
The simple gesture carries more weight than a thousand words from anyone else. Liv doesn’t touch people. Doesn’t thank them. Doesn’t acknowledge them if she can help it.
“You’re welcome.” Paris takes her hand.
Liv gives Paris’s hand a final squeeze before drifting back to her table, dragging Walsh with her. His eyes flick between us, shooting me that look that says we’ll talk later. Great. Something to look forward to.
“Pancakes.” I wheel Paris toward the serving line. “Doctor’s orders.”
I’m not sure if Vivian will kill me, but I have to balance the score.
The kitchen staff, really just Dante today, looks up as we approach. His face splits into that massive grin that makes him look like an overgrown kid instead of a man who can level a building.
“Holy shit, she lives!” He wipes his hands on his apron, leaning over the counter to get a better look at Paris. “Knox hasn’t shut up about you for days.”
Her eyes dart to mine. “Is that so?”
“I talked about you a normal, reasonable amount.” If I’d known this would happen, I would have kept her hidden longer.
Dante laughs. “Man’s been like a lovesick puppy. ‘When she wakes up, she likes her eggs scrambled.’ ‘Make sure we have strawberries when she wakes up.’ ‘Don’t you fucking touch that glitter, it’s for Paris when she—‘”
“Alright, enough.” I rap my knuckles on the metal counter. “She wants pancakes. You got pancakes or not?”
“For the miracle girl? I’ll make ‘em from scratch.” Dante grabs a bowl, already cracking eggs. “You want chocolate chips? Blueberries? We got both. Fresh from the greenhouse.”
She tilts her head. “Chocolate chips. Please.”
Dante winks. “Coming right up, princess.”
“That’s my line.” I glare at him.
While Dante whips up batter, Paris’s eyes roam the mess hall, taking in every detail like she’s cataloging it for later. Her fingers tap against the armrest, nervous energy leaking out despite her exhaustion.
“You okay?” I lean down, keeping my voice low.
“Yeah.” She nods, then stops. “No. I don’t know. It’s all so… normal. People eating breakfast. Laughing. Like the world didn’t end.”
“Just like in your penthouse.”
She blinks rapidly. “Yeah. I… I thought I’d never have something like this.”
Fuck me.
My heart cracks wide open.
And just like that, I’m gone.
Completely fucking gone for my princess.
All over again.