The foreign hospital nestled between tall pines and the gentle slope of the hill stood quiet, almost too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against glass and clung to the corners of sterile white walls. Outside, the winter sun cast a faint gold haze across the icy windows, but inside, the air was still and cold.
In a dim private ward near the end of the hallway, Su Yiren sat propped up on her bed, back slightly hunched, eyes staring at nothing in particular. Her long fingers twisted the corner of her blanket absently. A cup of untouched tea cooled on the tray beside her. She hadn't touched it in hours.
She had been moved here under a different name. A quiet transfer. No records. No attention.
But quiet didn't mean peace.
The nurse's soft steps echoed faintly down the corridor as she passed. Su Yiren barely blinked. She wasn't waiting for anyone. Not anymore. And yet, her body remained on edge, as though listening for something just beyond the walls.
The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and dried flowers. A single vase sat on the windowsill—faded lilies now browning at the tips. The woman who had once charmed dinner tables and held power in her voice now looked smaller, drawn. Her eyes hollowed out by the weight of things unsaid.
She rose slowly from the bed, walking to the window barefoot. She stood there a long while, watching the light move across the snowy courtyard. No one looked up. No one waved. Just people in coats moving past—doctors, visitors, people whose lives still moved forward.
Su Yiren's hand pressed against the cold glass.
She wasn't sure what haunted her more—what she had done, or what was still waiting for her in the shadows of her past. Every night she heard echoes. Some in voices. Some in silence.
There had been a knock once, two days ago. No one had entered. Just the sound.
And that was enough to leave her trembling all night.
She glanced at the mirror across the room. She didn't recognize the woman there. Not anymore. And perhaps it was better that way.
A soft creak behind her made her flinch.
It was just the door. The wind.
Still, she turned, heart pulsing a little harder. Her gaze stayed fixed on the door a moment too long before returning to the snow.
She wasn't expecting anyone, but the silence had grown suspicious lately. The kind that came before a storm.
A faint buzz of conversation outside her room drifted into the silence. Foreign tongues. Familiar tension.
She had memorized the footsteps by now. Nurses. Cleaners. Doctors. None stopped.
Good.
Her secret still held—for now.
But her breath hitched when she heard a voice. Low. Male. Close.
Her pulse quickened.
Then nothing. The hallway went still again.
She backed away from the window. Slowly. Eyes darting to the door, half-expecting it to open.
But it didn't.
Su Yiren sat down again, hand trembling as she reached for the cup of tea. Cold. Stale.
She sipped anyway.
Because doing nothing was worse.
Because if she stayed still long enough, her mind would wander—to the girl with haunted eyes, to the boy with sharp questions, to the man with cold silence.
To what she'd said.
To what she hadn't.
To the things that could destroy them all if they ever saw the light.
She had buried those things once.
But dirt never held secrets for long.
And now, in this far-off place with unfamiliar skies and quiet halls, she was no longer sure if she was hiding… or waiting.
Something was coming.
She could feel it.
And when it arrived—she would have no more time to run.