chapter 58
The first thing Ferial noticed wasn’t the pain. It was the sounds all around her. A slow, rhythmic beeping—steady, unchanging. Mechanical and controlled. It echoed somewhere close, cutting through the thick, heavy silence that pressed against her mind.
Then came the smells. First it was clean.
Too clean for her senses. Sharp antiseptic, sterile air, something faintly medicinal that burned the back of her throat even before she fully woke.
Her body followed last. And everything hit all at once. The pain didn’t creep in—it crashed down onto her.
It settled into her bones, her ribs, her shoulder, her head. It pulsed through her in waves, deep and relentless, like her body was remembering everything that had happened and refusing to let her forget.
A small, broken sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.
It hurt to breathe and it hurt to exist.
Darkness flickered behind her eyelids as she tried—slowly, painfully—to pull herself closer to consciousness.
Voices. There were voices. Muted at first. Blurred. Like hearing people speak underwater. Part of her felt as though she was in that cold, freezing water again.
“…still weak…” “…monitor that…” “…he hasn’t left—”
A different voice cut through.
Closer.
Rougher.
“…Ferial…”
That one she knew. Even before her mind fully caught up, her body reacted.
Dante. It had to be Dante. Her fingers twitched weakly against something warm. Someone holding her hand.
“…come on…” his voice came again, quieter this time, like he was speaking directly into the space between her breaths. “You need to wake up now.”
She tried. Goddess, she tried. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes heavy, her vision nothing but blurred light and shadow. The beeping sharpened and the voices became clearer.
“…she’s responding—” “…increase observation—”
Her throat burned. Dry and raw. Like she hadn’t spoken in days.
She forced her eyes open. Light stabbed through her vision and she flinched instinctively, a soft whimper slipping out.
Shapes slowly began to form. White ceiling.
Bright lights.
Figures moving.
And then—
Him.
Dante was right beside her. Closer than anything else in the room.
He looked—
Wrong.
That was the only word her mind could find. His hair was unkempt, longer than she remembered. His beard had grown in, rough and uneven along his jaw. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, deep and bruised like he hadn’t slept in days.
Weeks.
His skin looked pale. Drawn tight.
And his eyes—
His eyes were locked on her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
“Ferial,” he said, and this time his voice broke.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Pain flared as she tried to shift even slightly.
Dante moved instantly.
“Don’t—don’t try to move,” he said quickly, his hand tightening around hers. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just—stay still.”
Safe.
The word felt distant.
She swallowed, or tried to.
Her throat protested violently.
Water.
She needed—
Her lips moved again, barely forming the word. Dante saw it anyway.
“Water,” he said immediately, already reaching for the glass on the bedside table.
He supported her head carefully—too carefully, like she might break—and tilted the glass just enough for her to take a small sip.
The water hit her throat like relief and pain at the same time.
She coughed weakly.
“Slow,” he murmured. “Just a little.”
She managed another sip before her head fell back against the pillow, exhausted from the effort.
Her eyes drifted around the room.
Monitors.
IV lines.
Machines she didn’t understand, all connected to her.
A doctor stood nearby, watching closely, two nurses adjusting something at her side.
“You’re in the medical wing,” the doctor said gently. “You’ve been unconscious for several days. We had to induce a coma to stabilize your injuries.”
Days. Her mind struggled to process that. Her gaze flicked back to Dante.
“…you…” she tried again, her voice barely there.
“I’m here,” he said immediately.
She blinked slowly, trying to focus on him.
“You look…” she whispered.
He let out a quiet, humorless breath.
“Terrible?”
Her lips twitched faintly.
“…yes.”
Something in his expression softened, just slightly.
“Good,” he said. “That means you’re thinking clearly.”
The nurses moved around her, adjusting the IV, checking her vitals.
Pain medication flowed into her system, and slowly—slowly—the sharp edges of the pain dulled.
Not gone.
But manageable.
Dante shifted slightly, like he was going to help her sit up. The moment he touched her shoulder, she gasped sharply. Pain shot through her ribs, her arm, her entire body.
“Stop—” she breathed.
He froze instantly.
“Okay,” he said quickly. “Okay. We won’t move. Not yet.”
His hand hovered for a second before settling back into hers, grounding.
She could feel the difference in him now.
The tension.
The exhaustion.
The barely contained panic sitting just under his skin.
Her gaze lingered on his face.
“You didn’t sleep,” she murmured. Before she could say anything else—
The door burst open.
“FERIAL—!”
Abdie. His voice hit the room like chaos. Ferial’s eyes widened slightly as he rushed in, completely ignoring everyone else.
He looked exactly like himself—disheveled, dramatic, too loud for the space he was in—but his face crumpled the moment he saw her.
“Oh my—what did they DO to you?!” he choked out, already halfway to her bed.
“Abdie—” Dante snapped sharply.
But Abdie didn’t stop.
“You look like you fought the ocean and lost! Which—technically—you did but still— the before and after situations girl.”
“Abdie,” Dante’s voice dropped, dangerous now.
It didn’t register. Abdie grabbed her hand—her other hand—gently but urgently.
“I thought you died!” he said, voice breaking. “Do you know how dramatic that would have been? I would have had to carry your legacy! Im still practising the baby making things.”
Ferial tried to smile. It hurt. Everything hurt and the pain made it that she couldn’t even speak much.
Dante stood abruptly. “Get him out,” he said flatly.
“Hey—!” Abdie snapped, offended. “I just got here!”
“Now.” The command wasn’t loud. But it carried weight. The kind that didn’t get ignored.
Abdie hesitated, then looked at Ferial again—really looked this time.
At the bruising.
The exhaustion.
The way she could barely keep her eyes open.
His expression shifted.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
For once—
He understood.
“Lina!” Dante called sharply.
She appeared almost instantly, already moving toward Abdie.
“Come,” she said, grabbing his arm.
“But—”
“Now.”
She pulled him out before he could argue further.
The room fell quiet again. It was too quiet. Dante sat back down slowly, his hand finding hers again like he needed the contact. Ferial watched him and tried to process his movements.
“…he was scared,” she whispered faintly.
“I know,” Dante said.
There was a pause.
Then he exhaled, long and heavy.
“We brought you back to the Capital,” he said quietly. “You were stabilized on the island, but your injuries were too severe. They had to operate immediately.”
She blinked slowly.
“…how long…?”
“A week,” he said.
Her breath caught faintly.
“A full week. You were unresponsive. They kept you under to allow your body to heal.”
She tried to process that.
A week.
Gone.
“I thought…” he stopped.
His jaw tightened. Then he forced the words out anyway.
“I thought I lost you.”
Her fingers tightened weakly around his.
“You didn’t,” she whispered. His eyes closed briefly.
When he opened them again, there was something raw there. Unfiltered and open towards her.
“You don’t get to do that again,” he said, voice low.
She almost laughed.
Almost.
“I’ll try,” she breathed.
A faint smile touched his lips. But it didn’t reach his eyes. Not yet atleast.
He lifted her hand slightly, pressing it against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong and alive.
“I’m not leaving your side,” he said quietly.
And this time she believed him. Even through the pain. Even through the exhaustion pulling her back under. Ferial let her eyes close again, her body giving in to the weight of everything.