Noah Langford - October 2120
My eyes feel heavy before they even open, like something is holding them shut, sealing me somewhere just beneath consciousness. It takes deliberate effort to force them apart, and when I do, light floods in too quickly, sharp enough to make me pause.
I lift a hand instinctively, shielding my eyes as I try to adjust. The brightness lingers, burning at the edges of my vision, and I have to blink several times before anything begins to settle into focus.
There's a dull pressure in my head, already building, like something waiting just beneath the surface. A headache, not fully formed yet, but close.
"Ugh…" The sound leaves me before I can stop it, low and strained as I try to push myself further awake.
Nothing feels right.
My thoughts don't line up properly. They come in fragments, disjointed, refusing to settle into a clear sequence.
The last thing I remember was being restrained at the facility. Then a sharp, precise pain of my finger being cut, followed by nothing.
No… that's not right.
There was something after that...
Kai.
The word hits harder than anything else, snapping something into place inside my mind.
I move to sit up too quickly, ignoring the lag in my body's response. The result is immediate. The headache spikes, vision tilting, balance compromised. I bring a hand to my head, applying pressure, waiting for the wave to pass instead of reacting to it.
"Noah."
The voice is soft, careful. Too close.
A hand touches my arm and I react on instinct, knocking it away before I even process who it belongs to. My body is tense, alert, ready to respond to a threat that may or may not exist.
My surroundings don't make sense yet.
Am I still there?
Was any of it real?
Did they actually get me out, or is this just another constructed moment before I wake up back in that place again?
The headache intensifies as I try to force clarity, pressing harder against my temples, grounding myself in something physical.
"Noah, You're safe."
Safe... The word feels unfamiliar. I force myself to look up, to actually see instead of just react.
The room begins to piece itself together slowly. White walls with a faint, sterile scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. Old posters, slightly worn at the edges, still clinging to the walls.
Recognition finally settles in. I'm in the nurses office at Trinity.
When I turn my head, Finn is there, sitting close, his expression tight with something I don't immediately process. Worry, yes, but something heavier underneath it. Relief, maybe or the aftermath of it.
"Finn," I say, my voice steadier now that context is returning, "that expression is unnecessary. I'm clearly not dead."
I expect him to respond with something light, something to balance the moment, but he doesn't.
Instead, he stands and closes the distance between us in a single step, pulling me into a hug as he sits on the edge of the bed. It's firm, immediate, almost too tight, like he's anchoring me in place.
For a second, I don't respond.
My arm hovers slightly, uncertain, before I let it settle against his back, giving a light, almost awkward pat.
"You can release me," I say calmly. "I'm not at risk of immediate disappearance."
But despite the words, I can't quite suppress the small shift in my expression as his grip tightens instead of loosening.
"I was worried," Finn says, his voice lower now, closer. "You've been out for four days."
Four days.
The words land heavy.
I pull back just enough to look at him directly. "Four days?" I repeat, already recalculating timelines, outcomes, missed variables. "Then I wasn't present for post-administration observation."
Which means...
"What about- where's Kai?" The question comes out sharper than I intend.
The anxiety builds immediately, rising fast and controlled but no less intense. I was supposed to monitor the outcome. To adjust if something went wrong. To ensure the serum stabilised him.
But I wasn't able to be there with him.
Finn notices the shift. He reaches for my hands, steadying them before tilting his head slightly toward the space behind me.
"It's okay," he says. "He's in the bed next to you."
I turn immediately.
There's a curtain drawn closed, thin fabric separating us, and before I fully think it through, I'm already moving, pushing myself off the bed to get to it.
My body doesn't cooperate.
The moment my weight shifts, my legs give out completely, like they've forgotten how to function. The ground hits faster than expected, and I barely manage to catch myself.
"Noah!" Finn is already moving toward me.
I try to push myself back up, ignoring the weakness, but pain shoots through my hand as pressure hits it. I look down briefly, registering the bandaging, the injury, but it doesn't matter.
None of that matters right now.
I try again, forcing my body to respond, but before I can, Finn is there, lifting me up with careful strength.
"I've got you" he says, steady and calm, guiding my arm over his shoulder as he helps me stand properly.
I let him support me as we move toward the curtain, each step unsteady but deliberate. The closer we get, the more aware I am of my own heartbeat again, faster now, anticipation tightening in my chest.
I reach out towards it, my hand isn't steady and for a brief moment, I hesitate.
Then I pull the curtain back.
The sight on the other side hits harder than I expect.
Kai lies there, still and quiet, surrounded by machines that track and measure everything his body is doing. Wires, monitors, an oxygen line resting beneath his nose to support his breathing. Bandages wrap around him, stark against his skin.
He looks... Fragile.
Too still.
Too far from the person I know.
Something in my chest tightens again, sharper this time.
I move closer, barely aware of Finn still supporting me, and reach for Kai's hand. It's warm and my tension eases slightly at that. He's alive.
"How has he been?" I ask, my voice quieter now, more controlled again as I focus on something concrete.
"He hasn't woken up yet," Finn says, "but he's been stable since that night."
Stable.
I process the word carefully, weighing it, testing it.
It's acceptable, for now.
I lean down, bringing Kai's hand closer, resting it lightly against my forehead as I close my eyes briefly.
"Thank God" I murmur, the words quieter than intended, almost lost in the space between us.
I lean back slightly, pulling my attention away from Kai just long enough to look at Finn properly.
"I need access to his readings," I say, the words coming out steadier than I feel. "Everything from the last few days. Vitals, any changes, anything unusual."
Because "stable" isn't enough on its own. Stable can still break. It can still hide things.
I start to push myself up from the bed, slower this time but just as determined. My body feels heavier than it should, like it's still catching up with me, but I ignore it.
Kai might be alright for now, but that doesn't mean he'll stay that way. When he wakes up, there could be side effects, complications, something we didn't account for. I need to be ready for that.
Before I can take a proper step, Finn reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me.
"You need to rest," he says, his grip firm enough that I can't just brush him off. "Thomas and Edmund have been working on it. They told me to tell you to trust them when you woke up."
I frown slightly at that, already trying to pull my arm free. "Finn, I need to-"
"No, Noah." He cuts me off, more serious now, his voice low but steady. "You don't need to do anything. Not right now."
I pause, more because of the way he says it than the words themselves.
"You need to recover first," he continues. "I'm not risking you pushing yourself too far and ending up having an episode. You're already in bad condition."
"I'm fine" I say automatically, the response coming out of habit more than anything.
The moment the words leave me, a sharp ache presses through my head again, stronger than before. I wince slightly, bringing my hand up to rub at my temple, trying to push it back.
Finn just looks at me.
"You're not," he says quietly. "And you're no help to Kai if you fall apart before he even wakes up."
I go still, my hand dropping slightly as I glance back over at Kai.
He looks… peaceful, in a way that doesn't sit right. Too still, too quiet, but his chest rises and falls steadily, and the monitor keeps its slow, consistent rhythm.
If he wakes up and sees me like this, unsteady, clearly not recovered, he won't focus on himself. He'll focus on me.
That would only make things worse, but doing nothing feels just as wrong.
My thoughts start turning over too quickly, one after another. What if his condition changes suddenly? What if the cure causes delayed damage? What if we missed something important and no one catches it in time-
"Noah."
Finn's voice pulls me back before I get too far into it.
"I can see you overthinking" he says, softer now.
I don't deny it.
He reaches out, cupping my face gently and turning my attention back to him so I can't keep staring past him at Kai or get lost in my own head.
"Let's just take this one step at a time," he says. "You haven't eaten in day and you can barely stand. Lets start there."
I let out a slow breath, the fight draining out of me more than I want it to.
Now that he's said it, I can feel it properly. The hollow ache in my stomach, the weakness in my limbs, the way my thoughts feel just slightly slower than they should be.
Four days... Of course I'm not functioning properly.
I glance back at Kai again, checking him without meaning to. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet beeping of the monitor. There are no sudden changes.
For now, he's okay.
I look back at Finn, giving a small, reluctant nod. Not agreement exactly, but enough.
Then something else clicks into place.
"Where's Ethan?" I ask.
Finn hesitates. It's small, but I notice it immediately.
He looks away, his hand moving to the back of his neck as if he's trying to decide how to say it.
"He's been in his room," Finn says after a moment. "Hasn't really come out. He's blaming himself for all of it.""
Of course he is.
The conclusion is immediate, predictable. Wrong, but predictable.
I look down briefly, thinking it through, then back toward Kai again.
Another thing to fix.