The message came through Trench's secure comms line—static-filled but unmistakable.

"Director Trench. Tell Kate… it's holding. We've got a chance now. A real one."

For a moment, the world stopped moving.

Trench stood in the hall outside the makeshift medical wing, fingers clenched tight around the handheld receiver. The faint hum of the Oldest House pressed in on him, quiet, like even it had paused to listen.

He turned slowly toward the door.

Kate was still inside, seated beside Susanna's bed, her hand wrapped protectively around their daughter's. Her posture had barely moved in hours—shoulders slumped, chin resting just above Susanna's arm, as if she could somehow shield her with presence alone.

Trench stepped in, and she looked up, eyes shadowed but alert.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice quiet but taut with tension. "Is it Darling?"

Trench nodded, slowly. The words didn't come right away. For once, he felt them catch behind his teeth.

"He says it's working. The device's holding. He bought us time. A real window."

Kate blinked.

Not with shock—but with the kind of disbelief that comes after too many nights of no answers. Of whispered worst-case scenarios and imagining a future with one less heartbeat in the house.

"A real chance?" she asked. "You're sure?"

He stepped forward and crouched beside her, resting a hand over hers. His touch was warm—he hadn't realized how cold she was until that moment.

"I trust him," Trench said simply. "And I've never seen him this certain."

Kate stared at him. Then down at Susanna. Then back again. Her lower lip trembled, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the tears she'd been holding back fell freely.

But she didn't collapse. She didn't break.

She breathed.

Slowly, deeply. Like someone surfacing after too long underwater.

Trench leaned his forehead against the edge of the bed, his free hand brushing gently across Susanna's shoulder. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

"You keep fighting, kiddo. Darling's given you the opening—now you take it."

Susanna didn't respond, not with words or movement. But the monitor showed a change—slight, but unmistakable.

A tiny fluctuation in brainwave rhythm. A pulse in tune with the suppressor's new frequency. And below it all… stability.

Trench and Kate sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft hum of the machines, the even rhythm of Susanna's breathing. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

Kate eventually leaned her head on Trench's shoulder.

"I didn't think we were going to get this far," she said softly.

"We haven't won yet," Trench replied. "But we're still in the game."

And for the first time in days, he let himself believe it.