The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of machines and the low murmur of voices from the hallway. Johnny lay motionless on the bed, pale and frail beneath the thin white sheet. Darry stood near the window, his jaw set tight as he stared out at the gray sky. Sodapop sat in a chair by the bed, one hand gripping the armrest and the other fidgeting with the fraying edge of his shirt. They hadn’t spoken much since they’d arrived—there wasn’t much to say.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and both brothers turned toward the doorway. There stood Ponyboy, hesitating just inside the room. He looked almost unrecognizable with his newly bleached, unevenly cut hair. The sharp contrast against his pale skin made his green-gray eyes stand out even more, though they looked darker now, heavy with exhaustion.

Sodapop’s mouth fell open. “Pony?” he said, standing up so fast his chair nearly toppled over.

Darry turned fully, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he took in his younger brother. “What the hell happened to you?”

Ponyboy shifted on his feet, his gaze flicking between them and the floor. He felt the weight of their stares like a spotlight. “It’s… nothing. Just had to make sure nobody recognized me.”

“Nothing?” Darry stepped forward, his voice rising. “You’ve been gone for days, and you show up looking like this? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Sodapop moved closer, concern etched into his face. “Darry, give him a second. He looks like he’s been through hell.”

Ponyboy swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I have,” he murmured. His eyes flicked toward Johnny, still as a statue in the bed. “We both have.”

The room fell silent again as the weight of his words settled over them like a heavy fog. For the first time in days, Ponyboy felt the full force of what had happened—the fear, the pain, and now the relief of seeing his brothers again. But as Darry’s tense expression softened and Sodapop pulled him into a hug, he realized the hardest part was yet to come.