The infirmary room was too white.
White walls.
White sheets.
White light that made every shadow look like a mistake.
Evan sat on the edge of the bed with a paper cup in both hands. Water he had forgotten to drink. His fingers were still trembling, small, persistent aftershocks like his body hadn't received the news that the danger was over.
The door opened softly.
Noah stepped in.
He didn't bring his badge.
Didn't bring a file.
Didn't bring questions.
He closed the door behind him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Evan didn't look up.
"You watched it," Evan said quietly.
Noah stilled. "Watched what?"
"The camera." A breath. Thin. Careful. "Everyone does."
Noah didn't deny it.
"I looked like an animal," Evan whispered.
"You looked human."
Evan laughed once.
It cracked in the middle.
"I hate that word."
Noah took a step closer. Then another. He stopped a few feet away, like crossing the rest of the distance might change something he wasn't ready to name.
"You saved her."
"I ruined myself doing it."
"No."
"Yes."
Evan finally looked up.
His eyes were red. Not from crying now—from before. From hours ago. From too many times his body had folded around something invisible.
"They don't show you this part in stories," he said. "They show the visions. The warnings. The drama."
His hands tightened around the cup.
"They don't show the waiting. The pressure. The way your ribs start to feel like a cage built by someone who hates you."
Noah's throat moved.
"When it starts," Evan continued, voice shaking, "I try to think of small things. Stupid things. Cracks in the wall. Songs I don't like. The way dust floats in sunlight."
He swallowed.
"It doesn't work anymore."
Noah whispered, "Evan…"
"I feel them deciding," Evan said. "Before they do it. Before they become monsters. I feel the moment they choose to stop being a person."
His breathing sped up.
"And I can't stop it. I can only wait until it hurts enough that I know someone's about to disappear."
His voice broke completely.
"I don't want to know this."
The cup slipped from his hands.
Water spilled across the floor.
Evan didn't notice.
"I don't want to be this," he said, louder now, raw. "I don't want to carry their decisions in my body like I'm some kind of grave."
Noah crossed the distance.
He didn't touch him yet.
He knelt in front of him instead, slow, careful, like approaching something wounded that might still bite.
"You're not a grave," Noah said.
Evan laughed again, ugly this time.
"I smell like death, detective."
"No."
"I do."
"You smell like disinfectant and bad hospital soap."
That almost earned a real reaction.
Almost.
Evan's face twisted.
"I'm scared all the time," he admitted. "Even when it's quiet. Especially then."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because quiet means someone has already decided."
His shoulders started shaking.
He tried to stop it.
Failed.
Noah reached out.
Paused.
Then placed one hand gently on Evan's knee.
Not gripping.
Not demanding.
Just there.
Evan inhaled sharply at the contact.
Didn't pull away.
"I don't know how long I can do this," Evan said. "I don't know what happens when there are too many stones in my chest."
Noah's voice was steady, but his eyes were not.
"Then you won't do it alone."
Evan looked at him.
Really looked.
"You're a police officer."
"I'm a human first."
Silence filled the space between them.
Fragile.
Alive.
"If I become the killer one day," Evan whispered, "you'll stop me, right?"
Noah didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"Yes."
Evan nodded.
"Good."
Another breath.
Softer.
"And until then?"
Noah's hand tightened just slightly.
"Until then," he said, "I'll make sure you stay alive long enough to hate me for it."
A weak sound escaped Evan.
Not a laugh.
Not a sob.
Something in between.
His forehead slowly leaned forward.
Rested against Noah's shoulder.
Just for a second.
Noah didn't move.
Didn't pull back.
Didn't hold tighter either.
He let the moment exist.
Outside, the city kept breathing.
Inside, two broken things tried to remember how.