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There is no argument I can make against that. Some legacies are not worth preserving just because they're old.

When Damon and Knight return a few minutes later, Damon immediately looks at me. His expression tells me he already knows what I'm going to ask before I open my mouth.

“Can I go in with Stella for a minute?” I ask her sister.

His jaw tightens. “Ari⁠—”

“Five minutes,” Augustine says quietly. “That's all they give us.”

Damon looks at her, then back at me.

“She needs to know she's not alone,” Augustine adds. “Let her go.”

His eyes remain on mine for another second before he finally exhales. “Five minutes.”

I nod and walk toward the door.

When I step inside, the sterile smell of the ICU wraps around me, and part of me wants to run rather than be back in this place again. The room is dim, designed to keep her sleeping, and for a second I stand in the doorway because I don't know how to prepare myself for seeing the woman in person for the first time.

What strikes me first is that Stella looks impossibly young.

Her dark hair spills across the pillow in tangled strands, stark against her pale skin. Even beneath the hospital blankets, she looks painfully thin, her body reduced by months of deprivation. There are small scabs across her hands and scratches along her neck, some fresh enough that they still carry a faint angry redness. Her wrists are wrapped in white gauze, marked by the kind of wounds that come from being restrained.

I have seen those marks before–I've worn them.

Something inside my chest cracks open as I move closer to the bed.

I don't just see Stella. I see myself lying in the bed, half-dead and covered in bruises. I remember not knowing why certain sounds made me panic, or why darkness could make my heart race.

I pull the chair closer, sit beside her, and speak. “Hi, Stella.”

Even though I know she won’t, I’m still disappointed when she doesn’t react.

“You don't know me,” I whisper, though a part of me hopes that somewhere beneath the sedation, she can hear me. “But I know something about you–you’re still here.”

The words catch in my throat, but I force myself to keep going.

“I know right now it doesn't feel like much. Maybe it doesn't feel like anything at all. Maybe when you wake up, you're going to be angry. You're going to be scared. You might not understand why everyone keeps telling you that you're safe when your body doesn't believe them yet.” I reach for her hand, moving slowly enough that she could pull away if she were awake. Her fingers are cool against mine. “That's okay. You don't have to be okay yet.” I stroke my thumb carefully over her knuckles. “You have time to heal. Don’t let anyone rush you through it.”

The machines continue their quiet rhythm, filling the space between my words.

“There is a life after this, Stella. I promise you that. It won't be the life you imagined before someone stole it from you, and maybe it won't look anything like what you thought your future would be, but that doesn't mean there isn't one.” My voice trembles, and I take a breath before continuing. “There are people who care about you. People who are going to love you. Some of them might come from places you never expected. Some of them might surprise you. You might even have to fight for that love sometimes. You are definitely going to have to fight for your place in the world; prepare for that.” I tighten my fingers gently around hers. “They can take almost everything from you, but they don't get to decide who you become afterward.”

My eyes burn, and I blink hard.

“You survived her. You survived that place. You survived every single day she thought would break you. If you survived that, Stella, you can survive anything.”

Her fingers don't move, but I keep holding them.

“You don't have to do it alone, either. You don't have to be brave every second. You can scream. You can cry. You can be angry. You can hate what happened to you. None of that makes you weak.” I lean closer, lowering my voice until the words are meant only for her, “And if you ever need someone who understands, I'm here. I mean that. I'm always here for you.”

I sit beside her for another moment, listening to the steady rhythm of the machines and feeling the warmth of her hand beneath mine.

Then I bend and press my lips gently to her forehead. “Welcome back, Stella.”

When I finally stand, I don't let go of her hand until the last possible second. Outside the room, Damon is waiting for me. I look at him, and he pulls me against his side without saying a word. Agent Knight and Augustine watch us leave, and this time, when we walk away from the ICU, I don't look back. Not because I don't care, but because I understand that leaving someone behind doesn't always mean abandoning them.

Sometimes it means trusting that they are finally somewhere safe enough to begin healing.