American Royalty III

Part 26: Safe

Kit felt weightless, floating in a space where nothing existed. No pain. No fear. No time. Just silence. It was as though she was suspended in an endless void, free from the weight of the world, the torment that had been clawing at her for so long. It was peaceful in a strange, almost comforting way. The eye of a storm, a place untouched by the chaos that had ravaged her.

But then it started creeping back—the weight. The pressure. The pain.

A steady beeping, slow at first, like a far-off pulse in the distance. It grew louder, insistent. A sound that cut through the silence, demanding attention. And with it came the sharp sting of awareness. Her body, which had been free of sensation, was suddenly filled with lead. Her head throbbed, her limbs heavy like they were filled with concrete, and every breath was a laborious fight, each inhalation a struggle against the resistance of her body. She couldn't remember the last time breathing had been so hard.

And then the voices.

They were distant at first, muffled and indecipherable, like they were coming from far underwater. But they grew clearer, more defined. There was a sense of urgency in their tones, a sharpness, like they were fighting to break through the fog that clouded her mind. They pushed against her fragile consciousness, trying to pull her from the safety of the void. The first voice she heard was Connor's, frantic, yet familiar.

"Will! I think she's waking up!"

His voice cut through her, sharp like a knife, and with it came a wave of fear she didn't have the strength to fight. Kit wanted to respond, to reassure him that she was okay, but her body betrayed her. Her throat was dry, raw, and she couldn't force a single sound past her lips.

She groaned instead, a weak and guttural noise that barely made it through. It was all she could manage. She felt the warmth of someone's touch, familiar, comforting. Connor. It had to be. She could feel his presence there, just beside her. His breath. His voice, though still distant, made her pulse race with the faintest thread of hope.

"Kit? Kit, it's Connor. Can you hear me?"

The words barely registered, but the hope in them tugged at her chest. She wanted to respond, to tell him that she could hear him, that she was okay. But her eyelids were too heavy. The light, when she tried to open her eyes, was blinding. She groaned again, her body protesting every move, as her vision swam in a haze of shapes and shadows.

"Will! She's opening her eyes!"

A new voice, calm and steady this time. Will. His tone was so different from Connor's, yet it carried the same concern. The same urgency.

"Kit, it's Will. Can you hear me? Blink if you can."

Her body rebelled, but she managed a flutter of her eyelids, just enough to catch the outline of Connor's face hovering above her. His expression was tense, and there were tears in his eyes—tears that he was desperately trying to hide. His hair was sticking up like he'd been running his hands through it in frustration, and his lips were pressed into a thin line of worry. But when their eyes met, there was a flicker of relief. A spark of hope.

"Kit, you're in the medical wing. You're safe. Can you talk?" Will's voice was gentle, but there was an edge of impatience there. He was trying to hold it together for her, for all of them, but it was clear that he, too, was afraid.

Her throat burned as she tried to speak. Nothing came. Not even a croak. She only managed a weak shake of her head.

"Okay," Will said softly, his hands moving expertly over her body, checking her vitals. "Don't push yourself. Just keep breathing. I need to check your response to a few things."

Her head lolled to the side, and her vision blurred again. She felt something sharp against her arm, the sting of a needle. It brought her back to reality, forcing her to focus. She didn't want to focus, didn't want to feel the pain that was creeping up from her ribs, from her limbs, from every inch of her body. But it was there, undeniable, overwhelming.

"Kit," Will said again, voice firm but soothing. "That's me testing your reflexes. Can you feel this?"

She didn't have the strength to speak, but she managed a faint groan, her body jerking slightly in response. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Will to nod in approval.

"Good," he said softly. "You're doing great. Just stay with us, okay?"

"Kit." Connor's voice was closer now, filled with something new—something raw. His hand closed around hers, his grip tight and desperate. "You're okay. We've got you. You're safe now."

The word "safe" echoed in her mind, fragile and foreign, almost cruel. Was she? Could she really be? The walls she'd built around herself—the walls that had kept her numb and cold—were starting to crumble. And with them, all the fear, the pain, the memories that she'd buried, came rushing back. The suffocating weight of it threatened to swallow her whole.

"Safe?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath. It cracked and broke as the question left her lips. She didn't know if she could believe it. She didn't know if she could allow herself to feel safe anymore.

Connor's face crumpled. The calm, composed facade he usually wore shattered, and Kit felt her heart lurch as he leaned in close, his voice trembling. "Yeah, Kit. You're safe. You're with us. They can't hurt you anymore."

The words hit her like a tidal wave, crashing through the fragile barriers she'd built, and with them, the tears came. They came without warning, raw and uncontrollable. She didn't know how to stop them. Didn't want to. The dam had broken, and all the grief, all the fear, the torment she'd endured came flooding out in sobs that shook her to the core.

Connor's arms were around her in an instant, holding her as though he could hold the world together, as though he could shield her from all the pain. His voice was a soft whisper, but it was everything she needed to hear.

"It's okay, Kit," he murmured. "Let it out. You don't have to hold it in anymore."

She couldn't stop. Her body was wracked with sobs, each one making the pain in her chest flare, but she didn't care. She clung to him, desperate for the comfort of his presence, for the feeling of being held, of being cared for. She clung to him like he was her anchor in the storm.

Her ribs burned with every breath, but she didn't care. She let it out—every bit of it—until the sobs began to subside, leaving her breathless and exhausted.

Will moved in beside her, his calm professionalism never faltering. "Kit, I'm going to give you something for the pain. It'll help, okay?"

She nodded weakly, unable to speak. The cool sting of the needle was a distraction, but within moments, the sharp edges of her pain dulled. It wasn't gone, but it was bearable. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe.

Connor didn't let go. His hand moved softly through her hair, his voice a quiet whisper. "We've got you," he repeated, over and over again. "You're safe, Kit. You're safe."

The words felt real this time. Real enough to settle deep in her chest, to warm the hollow ache that had lived there for so long. She wasn't alone anymore. And that, for now, was enough.