The nurse finally steps out,a clipboard in hand and a tired smile on her face. “She’s stable now. The fluids helped a lot—her fever’s coming down.”
Relief hits me hard enough to make me dizzy. I thank her, barely managing the words, and step into the room to see Lily curled up beneath the blanket, cheeks flushed but peaceful. Nikolai enters the room behind me, standing still for a moment, watching her breathe.
I ruffle Lily’s hair, lean down, and kiss her forehead. “You scared me, little fox,” I murmur. She doesn’t wake, but her fingers curl around mine.
Bella should have been back by now.
I check my phone. Five minutes, ten, fifteen—longer than anyone takes for a bathroom break. A cold feeling crawls up my spine.
I look at Nikolai. “Stay with her. Don’t let anyone in unless you know them. Not even the staff unless they show ID.”
He nods, sensing something in my tone. “Understood.”
The hallway outside is quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I make my way toward the bathrooms, moving faster with every step, pushing past a couple of nurses who don’t look twice at me.
I try the women’s bathroom door—locked. I knock. “Bella?” No answer. I push, it gives way with a low groan.
Inside, the light is still on. The air feels…wrong. The trash can is knocked over, paper towels scattered across the tile. There’s a streak on the floor that looks suspicious—something dragged or spilled, maybe blood, maybe not. I spot Bella’s hair tie by the sink, stretched and broken. Panic claws at my throat.
“Bella?” My voice echoes in the empty room. No response.
I turn in a slow circle, searching for any sign of her, heart pounding. She’s gone. She’s really gone.
But she didn’t go willingly. That much is clear.
My hands clench into fists. For a second, I let myself feel the fear, the old helplessness, the rage. Then I force it all down, focusing on what matters.
I don’t waste time calling security—I storm down the corridor, past startled nurses and orderlies, until I find the hospital’s security office tucked beside the elevators. The guard inside barely has time to look up before I’m at his desk.
“I need to see the security footage for the last thirty minutes—bathroom hallway, emergency exit,” I tell him. He hesitates, opens his mouth to protest. “Now. Or you’ll answer for more than a data breach. Move.”
His hands shake as he pulls up the feeds, screens flickering with silent footage. I pace behind him, barely breathing, jaw clenched tight.
“There,” I bark, pointing at the hallway camera outside the women’s bathroom. The timestamp matches when Bella left me. For a few minutes, nothing—just people walking by. Then I see a woman step out from the bathroom.
Her face is perfectly calm, perfectly forgettable.
But she’s not alone.
Behind her, in a wheelchair, is a woman slumped over, a surgical mask pulled up over her mouth, hair covering her face. Too still. Too limp. The flight attendant glances both ways, then calmly wheels her straight past the nurses’ station.
My blood runs cold.
“Zoom in,” I say. The guard does.
My heart stops for a second.
It’s Elena Morozova.
The flight attendant.
“What the fuck,” I say.
I thought maybe she was running, or maybe she was already dead, another casualty in this mess. But there she is. Calm. Unhurried. Not a mark on her.
She wheels Bella out of the bathroom like it’s nothing, smooth and practiced, a mask over Bella’s face, her own eyes glancing up just once.
The guard keeps talking, but I don’t hear him. My fists are clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms.
