The room feels smaller now.
Maybe it's the number of people crammed inside, or maybe it's the way the air presses against my lungs like it knows something I don't. The machines continue their steady rhythm—BEEP… BEEP…—mockingly calm for a situation spiraling out of control.
"They're preparing the transfer," the nurse says quietly, adjusting a line—CLICK. "We'll move him through the service route."
Serafin's eyes flick to mine. He looks more awake now, pain etched into every line of his face.
"You don't have to do this," he says hoarsely.
"Yes," I reply immediately. "I do."
He shakes his head slightly, grimacing. "This isn't your mess."
I lean closer. "You don't get to decide that for me."
The doctor steps in, voice firm. "We have a window of about twenty minutes. After that, it becomes risky."
"Everything about this is risky," I snap.
He doesn't argue.
The police officer stands near the door, speaking quietly into his radio—STATIC CRACKLE. His eyes keep moving, scanning corners, exits, shadows.
"Any sign of interference?" I ask.
"Not yet," he says. "Which I don't like."
"Of course you don't," I mutter.
The security chief checks his watch. "Elevator's secured. Loading bay cleared."
Serafin exhales sharply. "Sounds like you've done this before."
The officer doesn't look at him. "More times than I'd like."
The nurse leans toward me. "You'll need to step back during the move."
My jaw tightens. "I'm staying with him."
She hesitates. "Policy—"
"I don't give a shit about policy," I say flatly.
The doctor sighs. "Let her stay. He's more stable when she's here."
Serafin lets out a weak breath that might be a laugh. "Guess I'm officially a problem patient."
I squeeze his hand. "You always were."
They begin disconnecting machines—BEEP… FLATLINE… CLICK—replacing them with portable monitors—BEEP… BEEP resumes, shakier now.
My heart mirrors the sound.
As they slide him onto the transport gurney—METAL CLANG—he winces, teeth clenched.
"Easy," I whisper. "Almost there."
"Where is there?" he asks quietly.
I swallow. "Safe."
He looks at me then, really looks. "You're lying."
"Yeah," I admit. "But it's the best lie I've got."
The doors open—HISS—and we roll into the hallway. The hospital feels different now. Louder. Sharper. Every sound seems amplified—FOOTSTEPS, DISTANT VOICES, WHEELS ROLLING.
The service elevator waits at the end of the corridor, doors already open—DING.
The security chief raises a hand. "Hold."
Everyone freezes.
My breath catches. "What is it?"
He listens to his radio—STATIC—then swears. "We've got movement near the main entrance. Might be a diversion."
"Meaning?" I ask.
"Meaning this just got interesting," the officer replies.
"Just move," I snap. "Now."
They push the gurney into the elevator—CLUNK—and I step in beside it. The doors slide shut—THUD—sealing us inside a humming metal box.
The elevator descends—WHIRRRR—each second stretching thin.
Serafin's breathing grows uneven. "Caoimhe."
"I'm here."
"If this goes bad—"
"Don't," I cut in.
He grips my fingers weakly. "Promise me something."
I hesitate. "What."
"Don't disappear again."
The words hit harder than they should.
"I won't," I say quietly. "Not this time."
The elevator jolts slightly—JERK—then resumes its descent.
The doors open to the loading bay—DING—and cold air rushes in, carrying the smell of oil and concrete.
Two ambulances wait, engines idling—RUMBLE… RUMBLE.
Paramedics step forward. "We've got him."
As they start to transfer him, a sharp BANG echoes from somewhere outside.
Everyone freezes.
"What was that?" I ask, heart slamming against my ribs.
The security chief's hand goes to his weapon. "Could be nothing."
Another sound follows—SCREEECH—tires, maybe. Or metal.
The officer swears. "Move. Now."
They shove the gurney forward—RATTLE—and I jog alongside, pulse roaring in my ears—THUD THUD THUD.
Serafin's eyes flicker. "This feels wrong."
"Everything does," I reply.
As they lift him into the ambulance—THUMP—I start to climb in after him.
The officer grabs my arm. "You sure about this?"
I meet his gaze. "I was sure the moment I stayed."
He releases me.
Inside the ambulance, the doors slam shut—BAM—plunging us into harsh fluorescent light and the relentless hum of the engine.
The paramedic checks the monitor—BEEP… BEEP—frowning slightly.
"What?" I ask.
"Vitals are fluctuating," he says. "Could be stress."
Or something else.
The vehicle lurches forward—VROOOM—pulling away from the hospital.
I take Serafin's hand again, gripping tight.
Outside, sirens wail faintly in the distance—WEE-OOO… WEE-OOO—growing louder, then fading.
I don't know where we're going.
I don't know who knows.
But as the ambulance disappears into traffic, one thought settles heavy in my chest—
Running doesn't mean escaping.