I sat at the edge of my bed, the file clutched like it held my entire life inside — because maybe it did.
The name.
I had it now.
It wasn't printed. Just scribbled faintly in the corner, as though it had been an afterthought. Like a whisper.
Elias Ward.
I mouthed it over and over. I didn't recognize it.
I'd expected an old man. Or some world-renowned surgeon. But this... this was a name that didn't even come up with a photo when I searched. Just a list of articles behind paywalls and news pieces so redacted it was almost comical.
Who was he?
And why had the hospital said they couldn't release his information if his name was sitting so clearly in a file they accidentally left me?
Unless it wasn't an accident.
Unless someone wanted me to find him.
---
Lila was still downstairs, pretending not to worry, but I could see the way she kept glancing up the staircase — as if afraid I might collapse and fall. I couldn't tell her yet. Not until I understood what I was chasing.
I got up and slipped my shoes on. Took my tote bag. Stuffed the file inside.
I was going to find Elias Rhys.
But not to beg. Not yet.
I needed to know what kind of man would be the only one who could save my life... and still say no.
---
I started at the hospital again, bluffing my way through questions at reception, asking around about the doctor who'd left the room.
"Dr. Manners is on leave," the receptionist replied politely, without looking up.
Of course he was.
I left my number "in case he returned," but I knew he wouldn't.
This wasn't coincidence. It was a pattern. A design.
And I was just now seeing the edges of it.
---
That night, I opened every browser I had and typed Elias Rhys into them all. I didn't sleep. I couldn't.
By morning, I had threads — vague connections to hospitals, some anonymous philanthropist who made quiet donations to medical research, a few business acquisitions made under shell companies that eventually led to a mansion in the hills…
He wasn't hiding.
He was watching.
And I think — deep down — he's been watching me.
---