The clock on the wall ticks—CLICK… CLICK… CLICK—each sound scraping against my nerves like sandpaper. I've been staring at it so long the numbers blur, but I don't look away. Looking away feels like giving up.
The waiting room smells like disinfectant and burnt coffee. Somewhere down the hall, a machine beeps steadily—BEEP… BEEP… BEEP—too calm for what's happening inside my chest.
I rub my arms, suddenly cold. My jacket is still spattered with dried blood. No one's said anything about it, but I feel it anyway—like I'm wearing evidence.
Footsteps echo—TAP… TAP… TAP—and I look up. The police officer from earlier stands a few feet away, hands folded, face careful.
"Any update?" I ask before he can speak.
He shakes his head. "Not yet."
I nod. Silence stretches.
"You sure you don't want to give that statement now?" he asks gently.
I swallow. "If I start talking, I don't think I'll stop."
He exhales slowly. "Fair."
He hesitates. "For what it's worth—you did the right thing."
I let out a hollow laugh. "People keep saying that."
"And you don't believe them?"
"I believe the cost," I say quietly.
He doesn't argue. Just nods and steps back.
The doors to the surgical wing remain closed—HISS when someone passes through, then THUD when they shut again. Every time, my heart jumps.
A nurse approaches with a clipboard—FLIP FLIP—and offers me a paper cup.
"Water," she says. "You look like you're going to faint."
"I don't faint," I reply automatically.
She raises an eyebrow. "Everyone faints."
I take the cup. My hands shake enough that the water ripples—SLOSH.
"Any news?" I ask.
She gives me the practiced look. "They're still operating. He's stable."
That word again.
"Can I see him?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Not yet," she says softly. "But if he wakes briefly, I'll let you know."
"Thank you."
She walks away, shoes squeaking faintly—SQUEAK… SQUEAK.
I sit back down, pressing my palms into my thighs. My phone buzzes—BZZZT—and I flinch hard enough that the cup nearly spills.
Unknown Number again.
You should be somewhere safer.
My breath catches.
I type back slowly. Stop.
The dots appear. Disappear. Then:
You never learned when to listen.
I lock my phone and shove it into my bag, pulse roaring in my ears—THUD THUD THUD.
"Ma'am?"
I look up to see a hospital security guard standing nearby. "Yes?"
"Are you Caoimhe?"
"Yes."
"There's been a call," he says. "Concerning your safety."
My stomach drops. "From who?"
He doesn't answer directly. "We'd like you to stay inside the building for now."
I let out a shaky breath. "I wasn't planning on leaving."
"Good," he says, nodding. "If you need anything, let us know."
As he walks away, the reality settles in like a weight on my chest. Even here. Even now. I'm not out of reach.
Another hour crawls by—or maybe it's ten minutes. Time has lost all meaning. The lights overhead hum—HMMMM—and my head aches from the constant noise.
Then—HISS.
The doors open.
A gurney rolls out—RATTLE—and my heart leaps painfully before crashing back down. It's not Serafin. Just another body, another story.
I sag back into the chair.
"Caoimhe?"
The voice is weak. Barely there.
I'm on my feet instantly. "Yes—Serafin?"
A nurse waves me over. "Just for a minute."
They've parked him near the hallway, hooked up to machines—BEEP… BEEP—his face pale, eyes barely open.
I rush to his side. "Hey. Hey, I'm here."
His lips twitch. "You look… terrible."
I choke out a laugh. "You should see the other guy."
His fingers move, searching. I grab his hand immediately.
"Still here?" he murmurs.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say. "Not ever."
He exhales slowly. "Good. Because I had this… really stupid fear."
"What?"
"That I'd wake up alone."
My throat tightens. "Not a chance."
A nurse clears her throat. "Just a moment."
Serafin's eyes meet mine. Focus sharpens for half a second.
"He's not done," he whispers.
My stomach twists. "Who?"
He squeezes my hand weakly. "You know."
The monitor beeps faster—BEEP BEEP—and the nurse steps in.
"That's enough," she says. "He needs rest."
They start to wheel him away—RATTLE—and panic surges through me.
"Wait," I say quickly. "Serafin—"
He looks back, eyes heavy but intent. "Whatever happens," he says quietly, "don't go quiet again."
The doors close—THUD—and he's gone.
I stand there, frozen, hand still outstretched.
Don't go quiet again.
I return to the waiting area slowly, legs trembling. The sky outside the small window has begun to lighten—gray bleeding into blue. Morning is coming whether I'm ready or not.
My phone vibrates once more—BZZZT—but this time, it's a different number.
Hospital.
I answer. "Hello?"
A calm voice responds. "Ms. Caoimhe, we need to inform you—"
I hold my breath, every sound fading except the pounding of my heart.
"Yes?" I whisper.
There's a pause on the line.
And in that silence, I realize something with terrifying clarity—
Whatever comes next will change everything.