Isabella’s POV
Ethan…?
I stumbled to my feet as the smoke parted like curtains on a darkened stage. The figure stepped forward, forming more distinctly from the haze. For a frightful moment, I wasn’t sure if those purposeful strides really seemed familiar or if it was just wishful thinking. Wasn’t sure if those broad shoulders bearing the Royal Guards’ crest were the same as I’d seen hundreds of times before or if they were a remnant of a dream I hadn’t dared to hope for.
At first, I couldn’t move, and my lungs, already ravaged by the smoke, were hard-pressed to do their job.
Ethan.
I didn’t say his name out loud. There was a senseless sort of fear that pounded in my veins at the thought. As if doing it would cause the smoke to swallow him up again.
No, he’s alive. He’s real.
There was no semblance of the man I had left in the hospital. No remnant of pale fragility. This Ethan was whole. Moving. Alive.
He was real.
And he was here.