The elevator indicator lights up, then dims again as the car passes without stopping. Lila rocks slightly on her heels, still buoyant, still riding the afterglow of dinner and attention and the belief that this moment is uncomplicated.
“I don’t know how he manages it,” she adds. “Showing up like that.”
“I imagine it takes practice.”
She hums in agreement, distracted, then the elevator arrives with a soft chime. The doors slide open.
“I’ll see you later,” she says, stepping inside and turning back to give me a quick wave.
The doors close, and the corridor opens up again. Not calmer, just less crowded.
Leo moves a few steps away, reorienting in that subtle way that never looks like surveillance but always is.
“That was not about Lila,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.
“No,” he answers.
“Did you already contact Kiren?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I nod once. “Good.”
Leo doesn’t ask for more. He gathers what matters, passes it along, and keeps watch. He never overlays his own interpretation onto my reactions, and I’m grateful for that restraint.
The remainder of my shift crawls. When it ends, I change slowly, peeling off my scrubs and pulling on jeans and a sweater. Then I tie my sneakers with the double knot I’ve done since I was eight. It’s muscle memory, a small ritual that signals the end of one world and the beginning of another.
Leo waits outside the locker room. We take a side exit. The air outside is cold and damp, with the scent of rain lingering. The parking area is lit evenly, with no deep shadows, and cameras mounted at angles I’ve memorized without meaning to.
The car is waiting. Leo opens the rear door and stands aside until I slide in. The interior smells of clean leather and faint detergent. He closes the door quietly, then walks around to the front.
The vehicle pulls away smoothly. I watch the hospital recede through the window, the bright blocks of light in the distance fading into city dark.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Kiren:Leo told me.
My throat tightens slightly, not from fear, but from the knowledge that I’m not dealing with this alone.
I type back quickly.
It happened fast. He stayed polite.
A response arrives almost immediately.
Kiren:Polite is a tool.
I stare at that for a moment, because it’s true in a way that makes my skin prickle.
He referenced a patient case. Details he shouldn’t have had
Kiren:I understand.
The simplicity of it calms me more than reassurance would have. He’s not asking me to explain why it felt wrong. He doesn’t need the emotional layer. He heard enough from Leo, and he trusts my instincts.
I look out the window again, watching the streetlights as they pass in regular intervals, the world outside the car moving on as if none of this matters.
Me:He knew exactly how far to go.
