I wake slowly, the sterile scent of the medical facility burning my nostrils. For a moment, I'm disoriented, unsure where I am or how I got here. Then the memories flood back—the stage, the rain, the feel of Till's neck beneath my hand as I squeezed just enough to ensure his victory. My sacrifice.

But if I succeeded, why am I still breathing?

I shift slightly, wincing at the soreness in my chest and throat. That's when I notice him.

Till sits beside the bed, his teal eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. He looks different—softer somehow, the perpetual scowl replaced by something vulnerable and raw. His hand rests on the edge of the mattress, mere centimeters from mine, as if he'd been touching me and pulled away when I stirred.

For years, I've dreamed of this moment—of Till looking at me without pretense, without the walls he's built between us. Now that it's happening, I'm frozen, afraid to break the spell.

His throat moves as he swallows. "You're awake," he says, his voice rough with what sounds like relief.

The monitors beep steadily in the background, a metronome marking the seconds as we stare at each other in silence. I can see the battle raging behind his eyes—the same battle I've witnessed for years—though now it seems to be reaching a different conclusion.

"Why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Why did you save me?"

Till's jaw tightens. He looks away briefly, as if gathering his thoughts, before meeting my gaze again with a intensity that feels like a physical touch.

"Because I'm done pretending," he says, the words hanging in the air between us like a vow.