Page 95 of Hollow State

“You usually are.”

“I want to marry you. I don't want to wait. I want to do it as soon as I can get out of this bed.”

She gasped. "You just got shot. And you're all doped up. You're not going to remember this in the morning."

"Oh, yes, I will." His fingers curled weakly around hers. "I've been thinking about this for a while. I know this isn't very romantic. But we both know I suck at that."

"You do."

"I just know I don't want to wait. I want to build us a house," he continued. “Near the bunker. Not too near. I don’t want Zadie walking in without knocking, so there will be locks."

“I’m glad you’ve thought through the security.”

“And windows.” His voice softened. “Lots of windows. You deserve sunlight.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

Darwin’s thumb moved over her hand, a clumsy attempt at comfort that somehow worked better than anything else.

“We can talk about all of that later,” she said.

"But you didn't answer. Will you marry me?"

“Of course I will.” She leaned over, carefully avoiding his wound, and gently brushed her lips over his. She loved this man more than anything. "I love you so much."

“Excellent," he said softly as his eyelids fluttered. "I'm so happy."

“Go to sleep."

His mouth curved into a small, beautiful smile.

Wynn sat beside him, holding his hand, her other hand resting lightly against her stomach.

She wouldn’t tell him now.

Not while he was floating somewhere between anesthesia and dreams, planning houses and windows and a life that had felt impossible an hour ago.

But someday soon, maybe in a week, after another blood test, maybe when his color came back and his hands stopped shaking, she’d sit with him somewhere quiet and tell him Liam had found a trace of something neither of them had planned for.

A maybe.

A tiny, terrifying maybe.

Darwin shifted in his sleep.

“Windows,” he mumbled.

Wynn smiled through fresh tears and pressed her lips to his hand.

“Yes,” she whispered. “A house with windows and a family.”

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER…

Darwin had never been the kind of man who needed a big birthday party. Or a small one. Or any party, really.

He’d spent most of his adult life letting the day pass with a phone call from his mother, a text from Newton that usually included some kind of science joke, and a dinner he didn’t have to cook. Most years, that had been enough. More than enough. He’d never really understood the need to gather people around a cake and make an event out of the fact that time had done what time always did.