— NOLAN'S POV —
The morning was colder than it had any right to be. I slipped out of my room quietly, as though my footsteps might betray me to someone waiting just beyond the hallway. My hand lingered on the knob, turning it slowly, praying for silence.
The living room was empty. The couch where he had sat last night—watching, taunting—was deserted. My chest loosened the smallest fraction. For once, waking up early had paid off.
I bolted toward the front door before the universe could change its mind, my shoes nearly slipping on the floorboards. No infuriating smirk. No mocking words. No storm pressing down on me. Just freedom, even if temporary.
Breakfast was out of the question. Sitting at the table meant enduring his gaze, his voice, his ability to twist silence into something unbearable. Skipping a meal was better than that.
The car door shut behind me with a heavy thud. My breath fogged the windshield before the heater kicked in. For a moment, I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, the edges digging into my palms. I had things to do today—important things.
The key.
It burned in my pocket, as though even now it demanded to be acknowledged. I needed to know where it belonged, what it unlocked, why it pulsed in my hand like it carried a heartbeat of its own.
The drive blurred by, my thoughts circling the same questions until the hospital gates loomed into view. I parked and walked fast, as if movement itself could keep the unease from settling.
Zade's office door was ajar. I pushed it open to find him hunched over his laptop, screen glow painting his features. He didn't notice me at first—his eyes darted over the page like he was chasing something that wouldn't hold still.
"Did you find something, Zade?" My voice cut through the quiet.
He jolted, blinking up at me. "Woah. Perfect timing. I was just going over the hospital's history again, but honestly, there's not much online. Dead ends."
"Then?" I folded my arms, leaning against the frame. "You wouldn't look like that if you had nothing."
He rubbed the back of his neck, lowering his voice. "I started asking around. One of the senior nurses—she's been here practically since the hospital was built—mentioned something… interesting."
"Zade." My tone was sharper than I meant it to be. "Get to the point."
He sighed, glancing toward the door before speaking. "She told me there used to be a record room in the basement. A place where they kept all the original files and documents. She's not sure if it still exists. Apparently, they stopped talking about it years ago."
My hand went to my pocket without thinking. The key was still there. Heavy. Waiting.
"We need to check," I said quietly.
"Yeah, but…" Zade leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. "According to what I've pieced together, it should be somewhere behind the old storage area. Not exactly marked. We'd have to dig around."
"Then we dig." The decision left my mouth before I could second-guess it.
That night, when the halls thinned and footsteps grew scarce, we moved. Flashlights in hand, hearts pounding like thieves in our own hospital. The air grew colder as we descended the back stairwell to the basement, each step echoing too loudly in the silence.
The storage rooms were lined with broken gurneys, stacks of forgotten boxes, the smell of mildew heavy in the air. Shadows bent strangely in the beam of the light, and every so often, I swore I heard another set of footsteps behind us.
We pushed deeper, past the known corridors, until Zade stopped in front of a rusted metal door half-hidden by a leaning shelf.
"This has to be it."
My pulse stuttered. Slowly, I pulled the key from my pocket. The brass gleamed in the flashlight's glow, warmer than it had any right to be.
I fit it into the lock. It slid in smoothly, like it had been waiting all this time.
The door creaked open.
A breath of stale air rushed out, thick with dust and something else—something sharp, like the scent of old blood that never quite leaves.
We stepped inside.
Rows of cabinets lined the walls, towering and endless, their drawers labeled with faded numbers. Files were stacked carelessly on tables, some yellowed with age, others scattered as though someone left in a hurry and never came back.
But what made me stop wasn't the mess. It was the feeling.
The same charged heaviness I felt around Varek.
It clung to the air here, suffocating, as though the walls themselves remembered.
"This…" Zade whispered, his voice echoing thinly. "This is it."
We split up, sifting through the dust and paper. Most files were thin, with vague details about children once kept here, but never enough to understand what had been done to them. Names. Dates. Nothing about the kind of projects they were forced into, or how they survived in this place. It was as though the truth had been scraped out on purpose.
Minutes bled by. My hands shook as I flipped through brittle folders, desperation gnawing at me—until I froze.
There it was.
A file thicker than the others, shoved in the back of a drawer. Inside, photographs slipped free and fluttered to the floor.
The first was a group photo: children in identical hospital uniforms, doctors lined behind them. Their faces… I couldn't read them. Not fear, not joy, not pain. Just empty, like someone had hollowed them out.
My stomach lurched.
Then I saw him.
Last row. Standing stiff, his eyes lifeless. No emotions. No spark.
Me.
It was me.
The photo trembled in my hand as my legs gave out. My knees buckled, and the floor tilted until Zade grabbed me, steadying me. But I couldn't tear my eyes away.
That boy was me—yet he felt foreign, like a stranger I couldn't possibly understand.
Another photo slid loose. Two children this time.
Me again. And beside me… someone else.
The moment my eyes met his, a sharp pain tore through my chest, so fierce it stole my breath. He was looking at me with so much affection it hurt. A belongingness that burned in my bones even as my mind screamed it was impossible.
I flipped the photo over, my fingers numb.
There were words scrawled on the back, faint but legible:
"I'll never leave you behind. We'll get out together. — Rev"
My lips parted, the name slipping out in a whisper. "Rev…"
And then it hit me.
Rev.
The name he'd saved in my phone. The name he'd always used.
Varek.
I stared at the note, the ink bleeding into my mind. He knew me. He's always known me. Then why hide it? Why not tell me everything? My chest burned with a single question that refused to let me breathe—
"Varek… what the hell are you keeping from me?"