The ICU doesn't sleep, but it does change.
By mid-morning, the quiet tension of the night is replaced by movement—FOOTSTEPS, MURMURS, carts rolling by with soft rattles—CLACK-CLACK. The lights feel harsher now, exposing every bruise on Serafin's face, every shadow under my eyes.
I haven't moved from the chair.
The nurse approaches, checking the monitor—BEEP… BEEP…—her fingers fast and efficient.
"He's responding better," she says.
My head snaps up. "He is?"
She nods. "Heart rate's more stable. He's fighting."
"That sounds like him," I mutter.
She gives a faint smile. "He may wake soon."
Soon. The word hits harder than expected.
I lean forward, brushing my thumb lightly over Serafin's knuckles. "You hear that?" I whisper. "You're doing good. Don't stop now."
His brow furrows slightly.
"Serafin?" I say softly.
A breath drags from his chest—HNNG—rough, uneven.
The nurse raises a hand. "Easy. He's not fully conscious."
"I know," I say. "I just want him to know I'm here."
As if on cue, his fingers curl weakly around mine.
My chest tightens. "Hey. Hey, I've got you."
His lips part. A rasp escapes—RASPY BREATH.
"Cao…" he murmurs, barely audible.
"I'm here," I say immediately. "I'm right here."
His eyelids flutter, opening just enough for me to see confusion clouding his gaze.
"They…?" he tries.
I shake my head quickly. "No. You're safe. You're in the hospital."
His grip tightens, surprisingly strong for someone barely awake. "Don't… trust—"
A sharp BEEP-BEEP interrupts him as the monitor spikes.
The nurse steps in. "That's enough talking."
Serafin exhales shakily, eyes closing again.
"Fuck," I breathe, heart racing.
The nurse adjusts something on the IV—CLICK—then looks at me. "You should get some air. Just five minutes."
"I'm not leaving him."
"You're not," she says calmly. "You're stepping into the hallway."
Reluctantly, I stand, my legs stiff. As soon as I cross into the corridor, my phone rings—RING RING—loud and sudden.
Unknown Number.
My stomach drops.
I answer anyway. "What."
A familiar, smooth voice responds. "You sound tired."
"Stop calling me," I snap.
"That's not how this works," the voice says calmly. "You inserted yourself back into a closed system."
"I didn't insert myself," I hiss. "You dragged me."
A pause. A breath.
"You stayed," the voice says. "That was a choice."
"I stayed for him."
A soft chuckle. "Still making everything about Serafin."
"What do you want?" I demand.
"For you to understand the situation," the voice replies. "He survived. That creates imbalance."
My hands shake. "If you touch him—"
"I already did," the voice interrupts. "What you should be asking is whether I'm finished."
The line goes dead—CLICK.
I stand there, phone pressed to my ear, pulse roaring—THUD THUD THUD.
"Caoimhe?"
I turn sharply to see the police officer approaching. "Who were you talking to?"
"No one," I lie automatically.
He studies me. "That wasn't convincing."
I swallow. "They're still watching."
His expression hardens. "I thought as much."
"Then you need to do something," I say. "Because they're not done."
"We're increasing security," he says. "But there's something else."
"What."
"There was an attempt to access Serafin's medical records," he tells me. "From an external source."
My blood runs cold. "They can do that?"
"They can try," he says. "Which is why we moved his file to restricted access."
"And if that doesn't stop them?"
He meets my eyes. "Then we move him."
"Move him where?"
"Somewhere off-record."
My heart lurches. "You mean hide him?"
"Yes."
I shake my head. "He can barely breathe on his own."
"I know," the officer says. "But keeping him here may be worse."
A hospital security chief joins us—RADIO STATIC crackling from his shoulder.
"We've got an issue," he says. "Someone was spotted in a restricted stairwell."
My stomach flips. "Here?"
"Gone now," the chief says. "But they knew where to go."
The officer swears under his breath. "That settles it."
"Settles what?" I ask.
He looks at me seriously. "We're transferring Serafin tonight."
"Tonight?" I whisper. "He just woke up."
"Which means time is not on our side."
I run a hand through my hair, panic pressing in from all sides. "Does he get a say in this?"
"If he's conscious enough," the officer replies. "But Caoimhe—"
"What," I snap.
"If you stay with him," he says carefully, "you may be putting yourself in the line of fire."
I let out a bitter laugh. "I've been in it since the moment I came back."
The nurse appears at the door. "He's waking again."
I rush past them, heart pounding.
Serafin's eyes are open now, unfocused but searching.
"Hey," I say, gripping his hand. "Easy."
He swallows hard. "They… coming?"
I force myself to stay calm. "We don't know."
His jaw tightens weakly. "You need to leave."
"No," I say immediately.
"Caoimhe," he rasps. "They won't stop."
I lean closer. "Then neither will I."
The machines hum around us—WHRRR… BEEP…—steady, relentless.
Outside the room, footsteps echo again—TAP TAP TAP—too close, too deliberate.
And for the first time since dawn, I realize staying may no longer be my choice to make.