The thought surfaced instinctively, old and automatic.
I let it pass. Ethan’s words from last night steadied me—this wasn’t mine to carry alone anymore. Not this time.
“Are you finally going to sleep?” Henry asked when they drew apart.
“You two keep forgetting that, out of the three of us, I’m the only one who’s evolved to function without sleep.”
“Yeah,” Henry shot back, “but you don’thaveto.”
Oliver’s gaze drifted to the double doors. “I’m going to wait until I can go in. Then I’ll leave.” He looked back at us. “Deal?”
Henry and I agreed a little reluctantly.
We headed for our usual spot—the small table just outside the waiting room. Close enough that the nurses knew where to find us, far enough away that we could breathe for a minute. That was where life kept catching up with us. Work calls. Texts. Apologies wrapped around urgent requests that didn’t care where we were.
By the time Ethan arrived—coffees balanced in one hand and paper bags in the other—Oliver and Henry had already been in to see our father, and I was answering my third call of the morning.
We were half-huddled around the table, shoulders brushing, paper bags spread between us like a makeshift camp.
“I’m so sorry to bother you right now,” Oscar said the moment I picked up. “I know where you are. I wouldn’t if this wasn’t important.”
“It’s fine,” I said, turning slightly away from the table. The movement made a dull pressure bloom behind my eyes, as ifsomething tight were cinched across my temples. Lack of sleep. Too much coffee. Or both. “What’s going on?”
Behind me, wrappers crinkled as Henry muttered something about hospital food being a human rights violation.
“We need confirmation on the revised figures before this goes upstairs,” Oscar said. “There are discrepancies between the projections and reported revenue. If we send it as is, it’s going to trigger questions.”
A slow pulse started behind my right eye. I pressed my fingers briefly to my temple, trying to force my focus back into place. “Send the files,” I said. “All of them.”
“I’m really sorry to bother you right now?—”
“It’s okay. Send them.” I ended the call and stared at my phone for a second longer than necessary, willing my brain to cooperate.
It didn’t.
Across the table, Ethan swallowed around a bite, sliding a coffee toward me without interrupting whatever Oliver was saying.
I tried to listen. Caught half a sentence. Lost the rest in the low thrum building behind my eyes. Christ.
I didn’t have it in me to look things over right now. But… Ethan was good at this kind of thing. He could help.
I bit the side of my thumb before clearing my throat. “Ethan.”
Three heads lifted.
He stilled immediately. “Yeah?”
I hesitated—the instinct to say never mind rising fast and familiar—and then pushed through it. “Can you do me a favor?”
His posture shifted, attentive. “Anything.”
“Oscar’s sending over a report,” I said. “Revenue discrepancies. I just need it flagged—anything that looks off, anything that doesn’t track. Would you mind looking it over and letting me know?”
Henry’s brows shot up. Oliver’s coffee froze halfway to his mouth.
Ethan didn’t react to any of that; he just nodded once. “Of course.”
Relief moved through me so quickly it almost felt like vertigo. “I don’t have my laptop,” I said, my hand drifting back to my temple as the pressure tightened again.
