I froze.
I breathe slowly through my nose. Focus on something else. Anything else.
The room. Describe the room.
Deep greens and golds. Masculine but not harsh. A four-poster bed carved from dark wood. Heavy curtains block out whatever light exists beyond them. Paintings of Irish landscapes covering the walls, County Clare, County Kerry, places I recognize from family trips when I was young and still believed this life could be beautiful.
My heart rate slows. The nausea recedes.
It's a coping mechanism. A way to pull myself back from the edge. Focus on details. On things I can control, can catalog, can understand.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet find thick carpet.
My phone sits on the nightstand. Plugged in. The charging cable snakes to an outlet near the bed, and the screen glows softly with a full battery.
Someone did that. Someone came into this room while I slept, found a charger, and plugged in my phone for me.
I remember bringing my purse to the meeting. The navy leather one I grabbed when Father told me we were coming here to sign contracts. That feels like a lifetime ago now.
I scan the room and find it on the dressing table across from the bed.
Someone went to the effort. Found a charger that fit my phone. Took care of it while I was asleep.
I shiver.
Was it William? Did he stand in this room, his large frame moving quietly through the darkness, searching for the right cable, plugging in my phone while I slept? The thought makes my skin prickle. I don't know why. Don't know if it's a violation or something else entirely.
I grab the phone from the nightstand, needing to do something other than imagine William Murphy watching me sleep.
The screen lights up with notifications. Dozens of them. Missed calls from Reilan. Texts from cousins I barely speak to. Messages from family members expressing concern, offering prayers, asking questions I can't answer.
Nothing from my father.
Because he's in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.
Because someone shot him in front of me.
I scroll past the condolences and concern and find Reilan's number. He's called seven times. I hit call back.
He answers on the first ring. "Aoife."
"I'm fine." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"That's not what I asked." There's a pause, and I hear him exhale. "Father's still stable. Still unconscious, but stable."
The relief hits hard enough to make me sit back down on the bed. "Okay." I close my eyes. "Okay."
"I'm coming to get you. Fifteen minutes." His voice is clipped, controlled. The tone he uses when there's more he wants to say but can't. Not over the phone. Not where someone might be listening. "I'll bring clean clothes."
"Reilan, what's..."
"Just be ready."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone. Something in his voice. Something urgent beneath the careful words.
He knows something.
