Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 61

Zhan's Pov.

When I woke, the first thing I felt wasn't pain.

It was warmth.

Not just in my body—though the fire in my ribs is gone, and the pounding in my chest has softened—but in the air. In the sterile comfort of the room. In the hand that holds mine.

Wang.

His fingers were trembling against mine, but his grip was strong. I open my eyes slowly. The light is low, filtered through drawn blinds. I hear Dre's soft coughing, and Ezra's breathing, deeper than before. We were all here. Together.

"You're real?" I ask, voice hoarse.

He smiles. "As real as the needle I just stuck in your arm."

I didn't laugh. Not because it wasn't funny. But because I couldn't. Emotion sits heavy in my chest. It had been years. Seven. Long. Years.

"You did this?" I ask, eyes scanning the room.

"I had to. There was no other way."

I want to speak, but all I can do is pull his hand toward me and press it against my cheek. It was instinct. The part of me that never stopped needing him.

"I never stopped looking for you," he said softly. "I never stopped missing you."

I close my eyes and nod against his hand. "I stopped believing you were alive."

"That's okay," he whispers. "I believe enough for both of us."

I swallow hard. "The prison. We were taken in as prisoner exchange. For the Wen boys." My stomach turned. "They did this to us?"

He nod once. "But it's over.

My eyes flicked to Dre, who now sits upright, blanket wrapped around him, waiting to feed Ezra. He catches my look and nods once. We were all hearing the same words. Feeling the same disbelief.

And under that disbelief, something fierce is blooming.

Wang leans in close, his forehead brushing mine.

"You're safe now," he says, "but we're not done."

I breathe him in—his scent, his steadiness, his truth.

"No," I murmured. "We've only just started."

It takes me another ten minutes to sit up fully. My muscles felt like they'd been soaked in cold steel and left to rust, but I was upright. And breathing. And not in a cell.

Wang sits beside me, one hand still on mine, the other resting on the mattress like he is afraid I might disappear again. I wasn't sure if he knew how tightly I was clinging to his warmth.

Dre feeds Ezra spoonfuls of warm soup. The way Dre looks at him—it is like he is anchoring himself with every small gesture as if seeing Ezra whole is the only thing keeping him sane.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat.

"I didn't even let myself dream about this," I say, eyes still on them. "I didn't think rescue was real anymore."

Wang reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "It is. Here. Talk to Mia again. Your grandmother. Ji Li. They're all waiting."

The screen is already dialing before I can answer. Mia's face lit up, eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Zhan—!" she gasps.

"Hey," I manage, lips twitching into a real smile for the first time in years. "You got prettier."