The Garrison house was quiet that morning—eerily so.

When Tommy pushed open the bedroom door, the rest of the family followed behind: John, Finn, Esme, Grace, Linda, and Aunt Pol. Each of them braced for the worst, knowing Arthur had been barely holding on the night before—fever raging, lungs rattling, oxygen mask strapped tight, drips in both arms.

But what they found brought silence to the room for a different reason.

Arthur lay sleeping, finally breathing a little easier. Color hadn’t fully returned to his face, but he looked… peaceful. Alive.

And there, slumped in a wooden chair beside his bed, was YN—his daughter. His carbon copy.

She was curled up in the seat, arms crossed over her chest, hair a mess, a furrow in her brow even as she slept. Her lips were parted slightly, exhaustion etched into her young face. But her hand still lightly touched her father’s arm, like some part of her refused to let go—even in sleep.

Tommy glanced around the room, his voice quiet.

“She didn’t leave him… not once.”

Aunt Pol just nodded, eyes soft.

Arthur stirred, eyes fluttering open beneath the oxygen mask. His gaze found YN instantly.

And even with the fever still burning low in his veins, his voice rasped through cracked lips—

“That’s me girl… stayed in the fight, didn’t she.”

Because no matter how sick, how broken, how beaten he felt—

He’d always fight harder with her beside him.