I should have said no to work.
The day moves quickly after that.
I’d had to rush home earlier, barely enough time to shower, change, and reset my face into something neutral before work swallowed me whole. By the time I step onto the ward, the quiet authority of routine takes over.
Work is normal.
Rounds. Vitals. Charting. The steady hum of machines. The ICU settles into its familiar rhythm, and I let it anchor me, let it pull me back into the version of myself that knows how to function.
I stop at Bed 9.
Mr Blackwood lies as he always does, still, peaceful, suspended in that fragile in-between. I straighten his blanket, check his monitors, and lean in close.
“It’s me,” I murmur. “Emmy.”
I hesitate, then smile softly despite myself.
“I went on a date with Khai,” I tell him quietly. “The one I wasn’t sure I should go on.”
A pause.
“He’s… intense. Complicated.” My voice lowers. “And I crossed a line I didn’t think I would.”
The machines answer for him, steady and indifferent.
“But I don’t regret it,” I add. “Not even a little.”
I squeeze his hand gently before moving on.
The rest of the shift passes without incident. No alarms. No emergencies. Just that rare, deceptive calm that makes you forget how quickly things can turn.
I see Ryan once, near the nurses’ station, talking to Tate. She laughs at something he says, light and familiar. Ryan glances my way, then looks back at her.
I keep walking.
As my shift nears its end, fatigue settles in. I finish my notes and head toward the nurses’ station, already thinking about grabbing my bag, about sleep, about Khai.
I turn into the side corridor,
And everything disappears.
A hand clamps around my arm from behind, hard and unyielding, yanking me backward before I can react. I’m pulled into darkness, the door slamming shut with a dull, final sound that steals the light from the world.
I squeak, sharp, startled,
And another hand seals over my mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Khai
14 hours earlier
As much as every instinct in me tells me not to, I leave her in my bed.
Jaxon is already on his way, and I need answers. I need to know what’s in that file, the one my father deemed dangerous enough to have a man killed over just for reading its title. Whether the story we were told was true. Whether the rot goes deeper than I already know it does.
I pull on jeans, a t-shirt, my boots. Familiar armour. Necessary distance.
