Chapter 106

Julian’s POV

It’s been more than a month—almost six weeks—since Lyra slipped into this coma, and every single day I’ve knelt at her bedside, desperate for her to wake up. The hospital corridors have become all too familiar: the steady beeping of monitors, the hushed footsteps of nurses, the faint antiseptic scent that follows me wherever I go. Each morning, I step into ward 7 and look for her: Lyra, pale and motionless, lying as still as a fallen log. My heart tightens at the sight.

“Her latest tests look promising,” the doctor assured me again yesterday. “She’s showing gradual improvement.” He gave me a polite nod, but I couldn’t find any proof in Lyra’s unmoving form. She hasn’t opened her eyes. She hasn’t answered a single word I whisper into her ear. Not once. Every day I ask her to squeeze my hand, and every day I wind up staring at her lifeless grip. I’m tired of practicing hope that feels more like self-torture.

This morning, as I arrived at the nurse