NICK
The alley was quiet, tucked far enough off the main road that the noise of the city felt muffled, distant.
I stood in the corner, idling half in the deep shadow of an overhang, staring at my phone screen until the light burned against my eyes.
'Wait for me.'
Three words. That was all Cyan had sent.
I stared at the glowing text, my thumb hovering over the screen, a knot of raw frustration tightening in my chest. 'Why am I doing this?' I asked myself, the thought heavy and sharp.
'I could be at the hospital. I should be at the hospital.' I had rounds to check, charts to sign, real responsibilities that didn't involve sitting in a dark side street waiting on a man who treated every boundary like a joke.
Yet I didn't go back to my car at the site. I didn't pretend at least. I just stood there, listening to the sounds of cars zooming back and forth, trapped by my own stubborn refusal to leave.
