(Ayra's POV)
The day of my discharge finally arrived, and I was relieved to be leaving.
It had been days since the attack. Though the pain still lingered in my limbs, I could now walk without assistance.
Despite the rest and time off work, I was eager—almost desperate—to leave the hospital.
I had already changed into my own clothes and waiting when the door creaked open softly, and in came Steven.
He walked in with that careful expression he always wore—composed, unreadable, yet deeply thoughtful.
His sharp grey eyes landed on me, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"You look better," he said, pulling up a chair beside my bed.
I smiled faintly. "Still feels like I got hit by a truck, but I'll live."
"Good, because the discharge papers are ready and you're all good to leave."
My breath caught in my chest. Finally.
