The knock came before dawn fully settled over the hospital and Mateo had barely slept.
The room was dim, washed in gray morning light filtering through rain-streaked windows. The cardiac monitor beside him blinked steadily. The IV line fed quietly into his arm. His ribs still ached when he breathed too deeply, and his head felt like someone had packed it with cotton and broken glass.
"Mr. Pérez?"
The voice was firm and official. He turned his head slowly toward the door.
Two police officers stepped inside. One older, broad-shouldered, face carved from habit and suspicion. The other younger, holding a small tablet.
Doctor Ava wasn't there yet.
Mateo swallowed.
"Yes?"
The older officer nodded politely. "We won't take much of your time." Mateo doubted that. They pulled two chairs closer to his bed, the younger officer began recording.
"Can you identify your attackers?" the older one asked. Mateo blinked slowly. Attackers. Rain. Tunnel. Blue lights. The memory came in fragments, like torn photographs scattered on the floor.
"I…" He frowned, pressing his fingers lightly to his temple. A dull throb responded instantly. "It was dark."
"Did you see how many there were?"
His throat felt dry. "Maybe… two? Or three. I'm not sure."
The officers exchanged a glance.
"Do you recall what you were carrying?" the younger officer asked.
Mateo hesitated. The painting. His heart skipped once. He forced his face into something neutral.
"I was just driving," he said carefully.
"What was your delivery route?" the older officer pressed. "Where were you headed?"
Geneva blurred in his mind. The Freeport. The private estate.
Lucas.
His stomach tightened.
"I don't remember clearly," he muttered. "I hit my head."
That part wasn't a lie.
The officer leaned slightly closer.
"Mr. Pérez, this was not a random incident. Your vehicle was forced off the road. That suggests someone knew your route."
Mateo's breathing grew shallow. His head began to pulse again. Lights.
Rain. A shadow at the driver's window. A flash of metal.
He squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
"I don't…" His voice faltered. "I don't remember."
The younger officer softened his tone. "Do you have enemies?"
Mateo let out a dry laugh that hurt his ribs.
"Doesn't everyone?"
The older officer studied him for a long moment.
Then his expression shifted—just slightly—when he noticed the faint tremor in Mateo's hands.
"Doctor mentioned a concussion," he said finally. "We'll let you rest."
Relief flickered through Mateo.
"We'll be back," the younger one added. "If you remember anything—anything at all—call us."
They stood.
The door opened again.
And there she was.
Doctor Ava Lawson stepped aside to let them pass, greeting them with a professional nod.
"Officers."
"Doctor," they replied before walking away down the corridor.
Ava watched them go for a second.
Then her gaze shifted to Mateo.
And she paused.
He looked… unfairly good for someone who had nearly died.
Even pale, even bandaged.
The hospital gown didn't hide much. She remembered the emergency room clearly—the rain-soaked clothes cut away, the defined lines of muscle across his abdomen, the strength in his shoulders despite the blood loss.
He's a catch, she thought involuntarily and her cheeks warmed instantly.
Focus, Ava. She stepped inside fully.
He lifted his hand weakly in greeting.
"Morning, Doc."
She smiled.
"All right, Mr. Mateo," she said, slipping into her usual bright tone. "How are we feeling today?"
He tilted his head slightly, giving her a mock serious look.
"Physically or emotionally?"
She huffed a soft laugh.
"There it is," he said.
"There what is?" she replied.
"That laugh."
Her lips twitched again despite herself.
"You're impossible."
He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. "Wounded."
"You were actually," she reminded him gently, moving closer to check his IV line.
Up close, she could see the fading bruises along his jaw, the small scar beginning to form near his hairline.
A week.
He had been here for a week. In that small time-frame, something had shifted.
At first, she had been strictly clinical. Vitals, medications, neurological assessments.
But then came the small conversations, the teasing remarks, the way he watched her when he thought she wasn't looking.
"You handled the interrogation well," she said softly.
"You were listening?" he sounded surprised.
"I may have excellent hearing."
He grinned.
"I was just trying not to faint again."
"That would've ruined my morning." she chuckled.
"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You'd miss me?"
She shook her head, but there was warmth in her eyes.
"Let's check your balance today," she said instead. "You're due for light movement."
He swung his legs slowly over the bed this time.
Carefully.
She stayed close, one hand hovering near his elbow.
They walked into the corridor.
The hospital hallway was wide and bright, polished floors reflecting ceiling lights. Nurses moved efficiently between rooms. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixed with brewed coffee from somewhere down the hall.
Mateo walked slower than usual, but steadier than before.
"Feels strange," he admitted.
"What does?"
"Almost dying. Then just… walking again."
She glanced at him.
"You didn't almost die."
He looked at her knowingly, but she didn't elaborate.
They moved past the pediatric wing.
The atmosphere shifted subtly—walls painted in soft pastels, cartoon animals along the doors, small drawings taped beside patient rooms.
Suddenly, two little kids burst out from a nearby room, chasing each other.
"Ava!" one of them squealed.
She stopped instantly. Her entire face lit up. Mateo had never seen her smile like that. Not polite, neither was she professional. It was bright and rosy. Almost glowing. She crouched slightly despite her lab coat.
"What did I say about running?" she teased gently.
The boy giggled.
The little girl hugged her waist.
"You're supposed to be resting," Ava added softly.
Mateo watched quietly. Something inside him shifted. She wasn't just beautiful. She was kind. Warm in a way that felt rare. When the nurse ushered the kids back into their room, Ava stood and smoothed her coat, slightly embarrassed.
"Sorry," she said. "I've been working with them since they were admitted."
"They love you," he said simply.
She looked away briefly, her cheeks faintly pink again.
"It's the stickers," she joked weakly.
He shook his head.
"It's not the stickers."
She didn't respond to that.
They resumed walking.
"Why did you study medicine?" he asked after a moment.
She hesitated.
"My father was a paramedic," she said quietly. "He died on duty when I was nineteen. I guess… I didn't want to feel helpless again."
Mateo absorbed that.
"That's why you looked so calm," he said.
"When?"
"When I woke up."
She smiled faintly.
"Calm is sometimes just practiced fear."
He studied her profile.
"You hide it well."
"And you flirt well," she countered.
He placed a hand over his heart dramatically again.
"Occupational hazard."
They both laughed softly. It felt easy, almost natural. Back in his room, she helped him sit.
"You're healing faster than expected," she said.
"Motivated." he replied.
"Oh?" She feigned a surprised look.
"Good company." he continued, she shook her head, but she didn't deny the warmth between them anymore. A week had done something dangerous to them. It had blurred lines, softened boundaries. She moved closer to check his head bandage.
"I need to change this," she said gently.
He nodded. She stepped between his knees to get a better angle.
Carefully, she unwrapped the gauze from his temple.
Her fingers brushed his hairline lightly.
He inhaled slowly. Too aware of her proximity. She leaned closer to inspect the stitches.
Her blonde hair fell forward slightly.
He could see the subtle difference in her eyes again—the green and the blue-green.
He reached up instinctively to steady himself when a wave of dizziness passed.
His hand brushed her wrist.
They both froze. For a moment, the hospital sounds outside the room faded and it was just the two of them. Her fingers were still resting lightly near his temple, his hand remained against her wrist. She broke free from what seemed like his hand holding her wrist and as though in a trance her hands traced his chin down to his chest, feeling every part of it while her breath hitched.
Their eyes locked.
Something unspoken hovered in the air. It was slow, heavy and electric. She didn't move away neither did he. His breath hitched softly.
She could see it—the question flickering in his gaze.
The possibility.
His heartbeat quickened.
He leaned forward—