Page 132 of A Sinful Gravity

Her voice grew more distant, more muffled. I tried to reach up and touch her face one last time, but my arm wouldn't lift.

Consciousness began to ebb like a retreating tide. Before the darkness took me completely, images of her flashed through my mind—the tears she'd hidden at our wedding, her graceful leaps in the rehearsal studio, that gentle smile I'd never reached when she held Laila in the sunlight.

Enough. I thought.

If this one life could buy her safety, could wash away the debt I'd accumulated over six years, then dying here would be worth it.

Then everything went dark.

I don't know how long passed. Then I saw light.

I seemed to have fallen into a long, heavy dream.

In the dream, there was no Washington cold, no business schemes.

I saw Luna in her wedding dress, barefoot, spinning on the lawn. She wasn't afraid of me anymore and didn't avoid my eyes. She reached out her hand to me and smiled brilliantly.

And I saw Laila. The little one had grown taller, pigtails crooked, running toward me with open arms, shouting, "Daddy! Hug!"

I pulled them both into my arms. That real touch almost made me cry in the dream.

But reality's gravity pulled me back down.

I felt like I was burning. Faintly, a small voice pierced through the fog and entered my ears.

"Cassian... you liar, don't you leave me..."

"I haven't told you yet... I've always loved you... even though you're a bastard, I still can't leave you..."

"Please open your eyes and look at me. If you just wake up, I'll agree to anything..."

That was Luna's voice. She was begging me. She was saying she loved me.

That survival instinct, which had already given up, exploded in my chest like dying embers roaring back to life the instant I heard those words.

I refused to die on the threshold of this beautiful dream. I hadn't told her I was wrong yet. Hadn't heard Laila call me daddy. Hadn't given them a real home.

I had to survive.

I don't know how long I fought—could have been an instant, could have been years. Finally, consciousness returned.

The return came with violent disorientation.

When the first ray of light pierced my pupils, my eyeballs felt stabbed. I saw an oppressively white ceiling.

Medical equipment beeped monotonously, mechanical and cold, but the only proof I was still alive.

I tried to move my fingers. My whole body felt impossibly heavy. Especially my chest and legs—that dull pain surged back the moment consciousness returned, almost knocking me out again.

I struggled to turn my head slightly to the right. Even that small movement forced a muffled groan from my throat.

What I saw was Luna, collapsed by the bedside.

She was asleep. Hair spread across the sheets, golden, catching faint light. Her face pressed against her arm, eyesclosed, tear tracks still on her lashes. Her hand gripped mine—tight, fingertips pale.

I watched her for a long time.

She still wore that red dress, now darkened and dried. Her disheveled hair looked like it hadn't been touched in days. Her profile looked so thin.