Prologue
Unknown
My footsteps echo through the corridor, each one swallowed by sterile walls and polished floors. Doors line either side, closed, silent, concealing truths that aren’t meant to be seen. The windows are covered, blinds drawn tight as if the world outside has been deliberately shut out. Machines hum and beep in a steady, merciless rhythm, counting time I can’t afford to lose. The gun rests heavy at the small of my back.
Still warm.
Not from my body, from memory. From what it has just done.
My hands swing at my sides as I walk, fingers curling into fists and releasing again, over and over, as if my body doesn’t know what to do with the excess violence still coursing through my veins. My heartbeat accelerates with every step, thudding louder the closer I get.
Room nine.
I round the corner and see him.
My best friend sits slumped in a chair outside the door, elbows braced on his knees, his head buried in his hands. He looks hollowed out. Drained. Like the fight has already left him. He’s been waiting, too long.
When I pass him, I give a single nod. No words. None are needed.
Inside the room, everything changes.
It’s quiet here. Almost reverent. Peaceful in the way only places touched by death ever are. The machines are the only reminder that the body lying in the bed is still tethered to this world, threads of sound and light keeping it from slipping away entirely.
I move to the foot of the bed and grip the metal rails, steadying myself. For a moment, I stare down, gathering whatever courage I have left.
Then I lift my gaze.
“It’s finished,” I say softly, the words settling into the room like a vow.
“You can come back now.”
I hesitate just for a breath.
“…please.”
Chapter One
Emmy
“Em! Come on!” Tate draws out theo’sas she stands in the doorway, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “That’s enough talking to the dead for today. It’s Friday, and I want tofinallyget off this ward and join the living.”
“Tate,” I whisper sharply, “they’re not dead. They’re in comas, have some respect.”
I gather my things from behind the nurses’ station, getting ready to leave for the weekend. “Besides, some research suggests it’s beneficial for patients in comatose states to be spoken to daily.”
I’ve been working in the ICU for a little over a year now, and somewhere along the way I found myself sitting with patients whenever I could, talking to them, keeping them company. Their families can’t always be here, and I like to think it helps. It’s therapeutic for me too. I can speak freely without the anxiety that usually comes with social situations. I imagine their loved ones appreciate it as well; I can’t fathom the guilt of not being able to be present all the time. If nothing else, I hope I ease that burden.
Tate links her arm through mine as she falls into step beside me, excitement radiating off her. I know what’s coming before she even opens her mouth.
“You remember your promise, right?” She winks. “You promised me a night out, and you’d better deliver.”
I sigh before I can stop myself.
“Em!” She stops abruptly, spins to face me, and grabs my shoulders, giving me a light shake. “Donotflake on me now. It’s Friday, and I plan on drinking, dancing, and staying out far too late.”
I take a breath and look up at her,wayup. Tate is all legs and confidence. Stunning, effortlessly so. My five-foot-two self feels like a garden gnome beside her.
“It’s been a long week,” I protest. “And I don’t know if I have the energy to get dressed up just to be pressed into a crowd while you inevitably disappear halfway through the night.”
