She hadn't seen him in days.
Not since the boardroom, not since she walked away from Brenner's offer, from the mess they had all helped build. Westbridge hadn't changed, not really, but something in her had. The hallways still echoed with the same clipped footsteps and beeping monitors, the same vague glances and polite nods, but Nora no longer felt like part of the machine. She wasn't there to fit back in. She was there to dismantle everything that had protected the wrong people for too long.
The copy of her mother's will weighed down her bag like a stone. It wasn't just paper. It was a truth that had been denied for years, proof that Lily had been more than a forgotten case number. Nora had what she needed now. The silence that had buried her sister was cracking, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn't chasing shadows. She was pulling them into the light.
When Rowan knocked on her door that evening, she knew before it opened.
There was something about the way the air shifted just before a confrontation, the heaviness that crept into the walls. She didn't look up immediately. She was reading an internal memo, her eyes skimming across the lines without registering them. She could already feel the tension waiting behind him.
He stepped inside with a quiet "Hi."
She didn't answer right away. She flipped the page slowly, then set the file aside and finally looked up. "You found me."
He stood just inside the doorway, uncertain, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression softer than she remembered. There was something in his face that hadn't been there before - something quieter. Bruised, maybe. Honest.
"I heard about what you did," he said. "About the will. About Brenner."
She didn't react. Her voice stayed calm. "Is that why you're here? To tell me you believe me now?"
"No. I'm here because I didn't before."
That stopped her. Not because it surprised her, but because he admitted it without defensiveness. Without excuses.
"I doubted you," Rowan continued. "Even when I didn't want to. Even when something in me said I was wrong. And I hate that it took all of this for me to see it."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, not as a wall but as a weight she had grown used to carrying.
"You watched me fall," she said. "And said nothing."
"I thought I was protecting what mattered. The hospital, my position, maybe even you. I convinced myself that staying neutral was safe."
"There's no safety in silence," she said. "Not when it costs lives."
He didn't argue. He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, until he was standing across from her, hands no longer hidden, face open and raw.
"I want to help now," he said. "I want to be part of whatever comes next. I know I don't deserve that chance, but I'm here."
She studied him. The man who had defended her too late. The man who had watched her walk away without stopping her. And yet, there he was - not demanding forgiveness, not asking for anything except the opportunity to stand beside her without needing to lead.
"I don't need saving," she said quietly.
"I know."
"I don't need anyone to fight for me."
"I'm not here to fight for you," he said. "I'm here to fight with you."
There was a long silence between them. One that didn't feel empty but full of everything they couldn't say. She didn't know what to do with that kind of loyalty. Not anymore. But she believed him. And somehow, that was harder to accept than if he had lied.
She stood slowly, the air shifting as she moved past him toward the door. Her voice was steady when she spoke.
"If you really mean that, then follow me."
She didn't wait for his answer. She didn't need to.
Because when she opened the door and walked out into the corridor, she heard his footsteps behind her.
And for now, that was enough.