Jia's POV:
Vihaan's sobs were tearing through the corridor, each one louder, more desperate than the last. He pressed his face to Ama's bloodied hand, trembling, his body wracked with panic and guilt.
"Vihaan… don't!" I shouted, trying to hold him steady, but he shook me off. His focus was only on her, only on her fragile, bleeding body.
Adrian and Eric appeared in a blur, rushing toward us. "Vihaan, stop! You can't go in there like this!" Adrian's voice was sharp, urgent, but he didn't touch him yet—he knew this was fragile, dangerous.
"I have to see her! I have to—she's—she's dying!" Vihaan screamed, pushing past them, his arms flailing. His eyes were wild, raw, the kind of despair that could burn through steel.
Eric grabbed his shoulders firmly, trying to pin him back. "Brother, listen to me! You can't help her if you collapse! Stop this!"
But Vihaan shook his head violently, tears streaming, voice breaking with every word. "I don't care! I can't… I won't lose her! She's… I—"
Adrian wrapped his arms around him from behind, holding him as tightly as he could. "Vihaan, listen! You have to stay alive for her! She needs you breathing, not collapsing in the hallway!"
He gasped, pressing harder against Ama's hand, sobs racking his chest. "I… I can't… I can't leave her…"
Adrian stepped closer, gently but firmly taking one arm. Eric took the other. They weren't forcing him; they were holding him in place, grounding him, but I could see the raw frustration and panic in his eyes. He wanted to run into the ER, to grab her, to do everything, and yet every step was impossible—he was breaking apart before he could even reach her.
"Vihaan… please hold yourself," I whispered into his ear. "Fight for her… don't let your fear swallow you. Let them save her, and then you'll be there. You have to let us help you… help her."
His body shook, sobs tearing through him uncontrollably. He pressed his forehead against Ama's hand one last time, whispering her name over and over. And then, finally, reluctantly, exhausted, he allowed Adrian and Eric to guide him back just enough so the doctors could rush her away.
Even held back, even restrained, every fiber of him screamed with helplessness and rage. I clung to him, murmuring, "It's not over… she's not gone… we'll get her back… just breathe, Vihaan. Please… just breathe."
His eyes followed Ama, weakly, trembling, letting the others hold him—but the fear, the guilt, and the sheer terror in his eyes didn't leave. Not for a second.
Vihaan's POV:
Ama… Ama…
I couldn't stop repeating her name, over and over, as if saying it enough times could will her back to me. The wheelbed was gone, the hospital doors sliding shut behind her, and already it felt like the world had swallowed her whole. My hands shook violently, tears streaming down my face unchecked, blurring everything around me.
I sank to my knees in the sterile corridor, my chest heaving as sobs ripped from me. I wanted to scream, to run, to drag the doctors away by force, to demand she come back to me—but my body wouldn't obey. My legs trembled. My hands trembled. Every instinct I had as a lawyer, as a protector, as someone who had always controlled the world around him, had failed me. Failed her.
"I'm so late… I should've been faster… I should've…" My words dissolved into ragged gasps. I pressed my face to the floor, trembling violently, as if proximity to the ground could somehow tether me to reality. "Ama… don't leave me… please… talk to me… just look at me…"
Every memory assaulted me at once. Her laughter as she teased me for losing arguments, the way she stubbornly refused to give up even when I scolded her, the warmth of her hand in mine… each memory cut like a knife, mingling with the metallic smell of her blood and the antiseptic of the hospital.
Adrian's voice, Eric's hands trying to hold me back, Jia's trembling insistence—they were all distant, echoes. All I could see, feel, breathe, was her. And her life hanging by a thread.
"I can't… I can't… she's my life… my everything…" My hands fisted the air, shaking as if I could grab her through the walls. "Ama… Ama… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry I wasn't there sooner…"
I pressed my forehead to the empty space where her hand had been, rocking slightly, sobs tearing through me like a hurricane. My throat ached, my chest burned, my vision blurred, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't—she was my everything.
"Please… Ama… just breathe… stay with me… I can't lose you…" My voice was raw, ragged, barely human. I wanted to curse the world, to smash every wall between me and her, to undo every second of delay—but all I could do was kneel there, trembling, broken, helpless.
Every second stretched into an eternity. Every heartbeat was a drum of panic and love. The fluorescent lights, the rushing footsteps, the sterile walls—they all vanished. There was only her. Only me. Only this unbearable weight of knowing that my failure could cost her life.
And I realized, in that terrifying, gut-wrenching moment, that I would never forgive myself if she died—not now, not ever. But for the first time, I also knew I had to stay here, to hold on, to breathe… to fight my panic… so that I could fight for her too.
I buried my face in my hands, letting the tears flow freely, whispering her name over and over, promising silently that I wouldn't leave her side—not now, not ever.
Adrian's POV:
I had come to Jia's house to collect some necessities, trying to keep my mind on the task, but then something caught my eye—a small glint behind a vase. I crouched slightly and realized it was a hidden camera, perfectly positioned to record everything in the room without being noticed.
A chill ran down my spine. Someone had been watching. Someone had planned this carefully. I carefully removed it and slipped it into my pocket, making sure not to disturb anything else.
"Adrian," a familiar voice called from behind. I turned sharply to see Jia's father standing there, his tone gentle, almost casual, but my mind was racing. I forced a calm nod.
"You got her clothes?" he asked softly.
"Yeah, I was just about to take them," I replied, my voice steady, hiding the unease building in my chest. He nodded and directed me toward her room, leaving me to collect what I needed.
On my way back, I froze again. Another device—a tiny voice recorder—was hidden in plain sight, attached just like the camera. The person who did this was thorough, careful, and reckless. My pulse quickened. Those with eyes and ears here were tracking everything. And I knew, without a doubt, that this wasn't just random.
I slipped the recorder into my pocket beside the camera, my mind already racing with questions: Who planted these? And why?
I returned to the hospital, and immediately, I saw him—Vihaan. Physically present, but his mind… gone. It was as if the world around him no longer existed. He stood frozen near Ama's bed, hands trembling slightly, eyes glazed over, every breath shaky. His usual control, the steel I had always admired in him, was completely shattered.
Jia was nearby, standing in the corner, her posture stiff, shoulders hunched. Her eyes were wide, strained, and brimming with guilt. She hadn't been able to save her sister, and the weight of that failure clung to her like a shadow.
And Eric… poor Eric. He was just a kid, barely able to process the chaos around him. Seeing his guardian, the man he looked up to, dissolve into helpless despair must have shattered him in ways words couldn't touch. I could feel it radiating off him—confusion, fear, a helplessness that made my chest tighten.
I handed the bag to Jia silently, my glance flicking toward Eric as I gestured toward him. He nodded faintly, understanding without words. Everyone here was broken in some way, but it wasn't just despair—it was the kind of pain that demanded action, even when your body and mind wanted to collapse.
And yet, even amidst this storm, I knew one thing: we couldn't give up now.
It had been four hours since the surgery began, and every second felt like an eternity. The doctors moved in and out, their faces set in professional masks, but none had the time—or maybe the words—to answer our frantic questions.
Then my father arrived. Seeing him, I realized just how grave the situation was. If he, the chief surgeon, had been called, it meant every other doctor had reached their limit. Ama's life was hanging by a thread.
"Dad… what's really happening?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking louder could make it worse.
He paused, his face tight with a mixture of focus and worry, before he spoke. "She's been poisoned… then stabbed. The condition is critical. The poison—it's Ricin. Extremely potent. We can try… but there's only a 5% chance she'll make it through this."
His words hit me like a physical blow. Five percent. That was it. My stomach twisted, my hands clenched into fists, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing but wait, hope, and pray.