NOAH

"Work is a mess," I said to his still face. His eyes stayed closed. "There was another rumor about you this morning. People love to talk."

I paused, waiting for an answer I knew wouldn’t come.

"Your father shut it down fast, though. He told everyone you’re fine. He said you’re stable and you’re getting better."

My mouth tightened as I said the words. "They don’t know the truth. They don’t know you’re in here, fighting like this."

I thought about the walk to the hospital. "I saw a cat on my way home yesterday," I told him. "It was sitting right in the middle of the road. There was a car coming, and the cat didn’t even flinch. It just sat there and stared the car down."

I took a breath. I almost laughed, but it felt thin and hollow. "It reminded me of you. Which is bad news for the cat, honestly."

The silence came back and settled over the room. I looked at him for a long time, then I looked out the window at the city. The sun was bright, and the world was moving on like nothing was wrong. It felt like an insult.

"I used to hate you," I said to the glass. "You knew that. You probably liked it. You probably thought it was funny."

My lips twitched. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close.

"I just don’t remember when I stopped," I said. The words felt heavy in the air. I had said them out loud, and now I couldn’t take them back.

They were just out there, hanging in the quiet room. I wondered if he could hear me. I wondered if the part of him that was still in there could feel the weight of what I was saying.

I stopped talking then. It felt pointless. It was the kind of frustration that comes from yelling into a dark well and never hearing an echo. I needed him to answer. I needed a smart remark or a look. I needed it more than anything else in the world.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stayed in my chair.

The door opened, and Nick walked in. The first thing I noticed was the mask. That was the first sign that something was off. Nick doesn’t usually wear a mask when he’s just doing a routine check on a patient who isn’t changing.

His eyes were visible above the blue paper. They looked tired. It wasn’t just the kind of tired you get from a long shift.

It was deeper than that. There was a sharpness in his gaze, but it wasn’t aimed at me or the room. It was turned inward, like he was fighting with himself.

I straightened up in my chair. "Good morn—"

"Don’t," Nick said. His voice was flat. He didn’t even look at me.

I closed my mouth. I had a whole sentence of thanks ready for him, but I pushed it down. I realized I would probably never get to say it.

I watched him work. He was fast and efficient, but his movements were tighter than they usually were.

He was moving with a kind of grim precision.

It was the look of a man who was very angry and had decided that his anger would not touch his work.

He wasn’t entirely succeeding. Every snap of a glove and every click of a pen sounded like a small explosion.

I could tell something had happened. I didn’t know what it was, and I knew better than to ask.

Nick isn’t the kind of person who answers questions just because you ask them.

Besides, I felt like I had already used up all the kindness he had to give.

He gave me my instructions for the day.

They were short and familiar. He said them as if the rules might have changed, but they were the same orders he gave me every day.

He finished his check and left without another word.

I let out a long sigh and turned back to Cassian. The room felt even quieter than before.

The door opened again. It hadn’t been very long since Nick left, so I expected it to be a nurse or maybe Nick coming back for something he forgot.

But it wasn’t a nurse. And it wasn’t Nick.

A man walked in. He was tall, and he was wearing a suit that looked like it cost more than my entire life.

It was the kind of money that didn’t need to be loud because it was so obvious. He moved with a kind of controlled power.

Every step was deliberate. He didn’t look like he was trying to be in charge; he just looked like he already was.

There was something about the air around him. It wasn’t threatening in a way that made me want to run, but it was heavy. He looked like a man who was very sure of himself and what he was doing.

A woman followed him into the room. She had blonde hair that was styled into perfect curls. Her eyes were hazel and very bright. Her clothes were just like the man’s... expensive and perfect. For them, looking like this wasn’t an effort. It was just a fact of life.

I stood up so fast that my chair scraped loudly against the floor.

The man’s eyes found me immediately. He looked me up and down, taking me in and figuring me out in a single second. It was a fast, cold assessment. He didn’t even seem to be doing it on purpose; it was just how he looked at the world.

I felt a jolt of recognition in my chest before I even knew his name. I saw the face, and I saw the way it looked like another face. It was a face I had spent the last few days watching while it struggled to breathe.

This was Preston. He was Cassian’s brother. Or his half-brother. The one who made Cassian’s life hell. The kind that can hurt you, without ever actually showing they are dangerous.

Preston looked at me. He was very calm.

"You," he said. His voice wasn’t mean, but it wasn’t warm either. It was just there. "What are you doing here?"