Aria POV
I didn't remember locking the front door.
Didn't remember my feet carrying me down the stairs.
Didn't remember deciding to run.
But suddenly I was outside again, and the rain was everywhere.
Cold drops slapped against my face and slid down my collar. My breath came out in thin clouds that vanished instantly in the wet night air. The street looked different now—longer, harsher, washed in streaks of reflected light that trembled across the asphalt.
I raised a hand, hoping for a cab I wasn't sure would come.
Nothing.
Just the hiss of tires cutting through puddles and the distant growl of thunder.
"Come on," I whispered, more prayer than complaint.
Headlights approached.
I stepped closer to the curb, waving harder. My sleeve soaked through instantly, rainwater dripping from my fingertips.
The car slowed.
Not a cab.
It passed.
My chest tightened.
Every second stretched thin, elastic with dread.
What if I was too late?What if he was alone?What if—
Another pair of headlights turned the corner.
Yellow roof light.
Taxi.
Relief hit so fast my knees nearly gave out. I stepped forward, arm raised high. The cab pulled over with a soft splash.
I yanked the door open and slid inside, breathless.
"St. Matthew's Medical Center, please."
The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes softened slightly when he saw my face.
"Rough night."
I nodded. Words felt useless.
The heater hummed to life, warm air brushing against my soaked sleeves. I hugged myself, trying to stop shaking, but it wasn't just the cold.
My reflection in the window looked like someone else.
Wide eyes. Pale lips. Fear written plain as ink.
Streetlights smeared into golden ribbons as we drove. Rain hammered the roof in relentless rhythm. Traffic crawled, wipers fighting a losing battle against the downpour.
"Family?" the driver asked gently.
I hesitated. "Someone important."
He nodded like he understood.
I turned my gaze forward again.
Please be okay.Please.
The hospital came into view too slowly and all at once—a tall block of glass and concrete glowing under harsh white lights. The kind of brightness that didn't comfort so much as expose.
I paid quickly, barely waiting for change.
"Hope they're alright," the driver said.
"Me too."
The doors slid shut behind me with a heavy sigh.
Hospitals had their own atmosphere. A strange mix of urgency and waiting. Footsteps echoed too loudly. Voices stayed too quiet. The air smelled sharply of antiseptic and something metallic underneath.
I approached the front desk, water still dripping from my sleeves onto polished floors.
"Hi," I said, trying to steady my voice. "I'm here for Theodore Vale."
The receptionist typed quickly. Her expression shifted—subtle, professional.
"Are you family?"
"I… I was called. He listed me as an emergency contact."
She gave a small nod and slid a clipboard toward me. "Please fill this out."
The pen felt heavier than it should have.
Name.Phone number.Address.
My handwriting looked unfamiliar—tight, uneven.
Then I reached the line that made my chest tighten.
Relationship to Patient: __________
I stared at the blank space.
Friend?Customer?Acquaintance?
None of them felt right.All of them felt small.
I wrote slowly.
Friend.
The word looked fragile on the page.
I handed the clipboard back.
"Have a seat. A nurse will take you shortly."
Sitting felt impossible. My legs buzzed with nervous energy, like stillness might shatter something inside me.
Every set of footsteps made my head lift. Every passing stretcher made my stomach knot.
Time stopped making sense.
Minutes dragged. Thoughts raced.
What if he was in pain?What if he was scared?What if he needed someone—
"Ms. Bennett?"
I stood too fast. "Yes."
A nurse with kind eyes motioned gently. "Come with me."
The walk down the corridor felt endless.
White walls. Closed doors. The soft beeping of machines somewhere distant. My sneakers squeaked faintly on the polished floor.
My pulse thudded in my ears.
We turned a corner.
"There are family members present," the nurse said quietly. "I'll introduce you."
Family.
Right.
Of course.
I nodded, suddenly aware of my damp hair, my wrinkled clothes, the fact that I looked like I'd run through a storm—because I had.
She stopped outside a room.
The door was partly open.
And there he was.
Tall.
Still.
Perfectly composed in a dark suit that looked like it belonged in boardrooms and magazine covers, not hospital corridors. His posture was straight, shoulders squared, hands resting at his sides like he was holding himself together through sheer discipline.
He turned slightly at the sound of our steps.
Sharp features. Controlled expression. Eyes that missed nothing.
For a split second, we just looked at each other.
I felt oddly transparent under his gaze. Like he could see every messy thought still racing through me.
"Sir," the nurse said gently, "this is Aria Bennett."
A pause.
"She's listed as one of your father's emergency contacts."
His eyes returned to mine.
Cool. Assessing.
"Is she."
Not a question. A statement wrapped in doubt.
"And this is Mr. Vale's son," the nurse added.
Oh.
Oh.
Something about that clicked quietly into place.
Same eyes.Same stillness.Different warmth.
I opened my mouth. "I—hi—"
"What is your relationship with my father?" he asked.
No greeting. No softness. Just precision.
"I…" My voice felt small. "I work at a diner he visits."
"A diner."
The word sounded foreign in his mouth.
"Yes."
"And that qualifies you as emergency contact?"
"I didn't know I was listed," I said quickly. "They just called me."
His gaze sharpened. "Curious."
I frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said evenly, "my father was not careless with personal matters."
"Are you implying something?"
"I'm asking a question."
"It didn't sound like one."
The nurse cleared her throat gently. "I'll give you two a moment."
And then she was gone.
Just like that.
Silence expanded between us.
He studied me openly now—the wet cuffs, the scuffed shoes, the tension I couldn't hide.
"You were with him tonight?" he asked.
"Yes."
"When?"
"At the diner. Before closing."
"What time did he leave?"
"Maybe… nine? A little after?"
"And he seemed fine."
"Yes. We talked. He had coffee."
"About?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"What did you discuss?"
I stared at him. "Life. Normal things."
"Define normal."
"Is this an interrogation?"
"It's a request for clarity."
"You could try sounding human."
His jaw tightened slightly. "You're being defensive."
"You're being rude."
"I'm being thorough."
"It's a hospital, not a courtroom."
"And yet details matter."
I folded my arms. "Look, I don't know what you think is going on—"
"I think," he cut in smoothly, "that my father does not add strangers to critical documents without reason."
"Strangers?" I echoed. "I saw him almost every day."
"In a professional capacity."
"I served him coffee, not contracts."
"That's my point."
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You know what? You don't get to reduce people like that."
"And you don't get to insert yourself into private family affairs."
"I didn't insert myself. They called me."
"You came."
"Of course I came!"
"Why?"
The question hit harder than I expected.
"Because I care," I said.
He held my gaze, searching for something—insincerity, maybe. Motive. Strategy.
All he'd find was exhaustion and worry.
"You're soaked," he said flatly.
"It's raining."
"I noticed."
"Congratulations."
A flicker of something crossed his face. Annoyance? Amusement? Hard to tell.
"You're remarkably combative."
"You're remarkably cold."
"I'm focused."
"You're suspicious."
"I'm realistic."
"Well, realistically," I snapped, "you're being a jerk."
His eyebrow lifted slightly. "That's your professional assessment?"
"That's my human one."
Before he could respond—
The door behind him opened.
Both of us turned instantly.
A doctor stepped out, mask lowered, expression carefully composed in the way people wear when the news isn't good.
My stomach dropped.
"Family of Mr. Vale?" the doctor asked gently.
The man beside me straightened. "Yes."
I hovered awkwardly. "I'm… a friend."
The doctor nodded once.
"I'm very sorry," he said. "We did everything we could."
The hallway felt suddenly too bright.
"Mr. Vale sustained significant internal injuries and lost a substantial amount of blood."
Each word landed heavy. Final.
"He went into cardiac arrest."
No.
"We were unable to revive him."
The world narrowed to a thin ringing sound.
"I'm sorry. He passed away a short while ago."
Silence swallowed everything.
"And…" the doctor continued softly, "the driver did not survive the impact."
I stopped breathing.
Somewhere beside me, the man went completely still.
Not shocked.
Not loud.
Just… motionless.
Like grief had turned him to stone.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
Rain battered distant windows.
And just like that—
He was gone.