A faint beeping pierced through the fog in Maya's mind.
At first it was distant, an echo from somewhere unreachable, then it grew louder, steadier, pulling her up from the dark. The hum of machinery followed, footsteps shuffling, voices blurred together in a wash of sterile white noise.
Her eyelids felt like stone, but she forced them open.
Light hit her like a blade. Fluorescent, unforgiving.
She blinked until the world steadied: a speckled ceiling, an IV pole, clear tubing taped into the crook of her arm.
The smell came next , antiseptic, sharp and cold, tangled with the faint metallic sting of blood.
A hospital.
She was alive.
Relief washed through her, brief as breath.
Then memory hit.
The alley. The rain. The needle. Him.
Her heart spasmed. The monitor betrayed her panic, beep, beep, beep, rising, quickening. She tried to sit up, but pain stabbed through her abdomen, white-hot. A cry escaped before she could stop it. Her body felt heavier than it should, like the world itself was pressing her down.
Footsteps approached, brisk and practiced.
"You're awake," a voice said. Calm. Controlled.
A nurse came into focus. Her face was framed by harsh light, her expression kind but rehearsed, the kind of smile that knew too much. She adjusted the IV with steady hands.
Maya's throat burned raw. "What... happened?"
"You were found unconscious in an alley," the nurse said gently. "Someone called it in. Paramedics brought you here. You're lucky, it could've been much worse."
"Someone?" Maya rasped. "Who?"
"Anonymous," the nurse said, glancing at the monitor. "No name. No message. Just... gone."
The word echoed inside her skull. Anonymous.
Her pulse spiked again, this time from understanding.
It was him.
But if he wanted her dead, why save her?
"Did they leave anything?" she managed. "A note? Anything at all?"
The nurse hesitated, just long enough for Maya to notice, then shook her head. "No. Focus on resting."
Rest.
As if closing her eyes wouldn't summon him all over again, his voice, his shadow, that syringe sliding into her leg.
The nurse patted her arm and left, her shoes whispering down the sterile corridor. Silence filled the space like fog.
Maya exhaled shakily and let her head sink into the pillow. Her mind ran in circles, the rain, the sting, the collapse. The memory came in flashes now, too fast to control.
Then she felt it.
A faint crinkle beneath the blanket.
Her breath caught. Her fingers moved before reason could stop them, brushing against something thin and papery. She pulled it free with trembling hands, a folded note, damp at the edges.
Her stomach turned.
She unfolded it slowly. The handwriting was precise and cold, each letter carved rather than written:
This isn't over. Tell me, or next time, there won't be a hospital.
Her vision tunneled.
The air thickened.
He'd been here. In this room.
Close enough to touch her.
Close enough to watch her sleep.
Maya shoved the note beneath the blanket, her pulse slamming in her chest. Her eyes darted to the door. For a moment, she was sure she'd see his shadow there, waiting.
A knock shattered the silence.
She jolted, pain shooting up her side. Her fingers clenched around the blanket, hiding the note.
The door creaked open.
"Mama?"
Lily stood in the doorway, clutching her worn stuffed bunny, eyes wide and uncertain. The kind of fear no child should ever wear.
Maya's heart broke cleanly in two. She forced a smile. "Hey, sweetheart."
Lily crossed the room in hesitant steps and climbed into the bed. Her small arms wrapped around Maya's neck, desperate and tight. "I was so scared," she whispered.
Maya stroked her daughter's hair, blinking hard against the tears. "I'm okay, baby. Just a little sore, that's all."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
But the lie burned on her tongue.
The door opened again. Jack stepped in, his police uniform still creased from a long shift. The badge caught the light, flashing across the room. His face was drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something heavier, disappointment.
"Lily," he said softly but firmly, "let Mom rest."
Lily looked at Maya, uncertain.
"It's okay," Maya murmured. "Go wait outside. I'll see you soon."
Lily squeezed her once more and slipped off the bed, holding her bunny like a shield. At the door, she turned back, worry flickering in her eyes, as if she could feel the danger her mother wouldn't speak. Then she was gone.
The door clicked shut.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Jack stayed where he was, arms crossed, jaw tight. The tension in his shoulders said everything before his mouth did.
"She shouldn't have to see you like this," he said finally. His voice was low, controlled, but sharp enough to cut.
Maya swallowed the guilt rising in her throat. "Jack, I--"
"Don't," he snapped. "Don't start with excuses. I'm done pretending this is normal."
Her pulse thudded in her temples. "You don't know everything."
"I know enough," he shot back, stepping closer. "Lily's terrified. You've been lying to me. And whatever this is, whatever you've gotten yourself into, it's bleeding into her life."
Her voice broke. "You think I wanted this? You think I don't--"
"Then what, Maya?" His voice rose, anger cracking through exhaustion. "I'm trying to keep this family from falling apart, but you're giving me nothing to work with."
She turned her face away. "I'm sorry."
He exhaled, a sound closer to defeat than relief.
"Sorry's not enough," he said quietly. "Not for me. Not for her."
He left before she could answer.
The door closed softly behind him, but the silence he left behind roared in her ears.
Maya lay still, staring at the ceiling. The note burned beneath the blanket, the inked words searing themselves into her thoughts. She could still feel him in the room, the ghost of his voice, the echo of the syringe, the promise in his threat.
The heart monitor steadied into a rhythm again
beep… beep… beep…
Each pulse whispered the same truth.
He'd let her live, but only long enough to finish what he started.