The request came wrapped in polite language.
Consultant assistance requested for pattern analysis.
Noah read it three times.
Same words.
Same meaning.
They wanted Evan again.
He crumpled the paper slowly in his fist.
From the infirmary window, Evan looked smaller than he should have. Curled slightly inward on the bed, like his body was bracing for weather only he could feel.
Noah didn't knock when he entered.
Evan glanced up anyway.
"You walk like bad news," Evan said.
Noah closed the door behind him.
"They want you in interrogation."
Evan's fingers tightened around the blanket.
"How many?"
"Two new cases. Similar pattern. Different districts."
Evan exhaled through his teeth.
"That's how it starts," he murmured. "One becomes two. Two becomes a language."
Noah sat on the chair beside the bed.
"You don't have to."
Evan looked at him.
"You won't let me."
Noah didn't answer.
Evan smiled faintly.
"See? You already chose."
A beat.
Noah said quietly, "I hate that they're right about you."
"That I'm useful?"
"That they're hungry."
Evan studied his hands.
"They always are."
Silence stretched.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Noah leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"If I say no… they'll replace me. And they'll still use you."
"Yes."
"If I say yes… I become part of it."
"Yes."
Noah closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them.
"I'll be there the whole time."
Evan nodded.
A small thing.
But it mattered.
The hospital corridor smelled like antiseptic and overboiled coffee.
Rhea walked fast, heels clicking like punctuation marks of irritation.
Kai jogged beside her, lab coat half-buttoned, hair a mess like he'd lost a fight with gravity.
"You didn't have to walk me," she said.
"I did," he replied. "You looked like you were about to declare war on the lighting system."
"It is too bright."
"So is your personality."
She shot him a look.
He grinned.
They reached the vending machines.
Rhea stopped.
Kai nearly collided with her.
"Careful," she said. "Your survival instincts are disappointing."
"Bold words from someone who lives on hospital coffee."
He bought her a tea without asking.
Held it out.
She hesitated.
Took it.
"…Thanks."
They stood there for a moment.
Quiet.
Rare.
Rhea stared at the cup.
"My last patient today was seventeen."
Kai's smile softened.
"She didn't make it," Rhea continued. "Aneurysm. No warning. No drama. Just… gone."
Kai leaned against the wall.
"I hate those," he said gently. "The ones with no villain."
Rhea nodded.
Her voice was smaller when she spoke again.
"I sometimes think I chose the wrong specialty. At least you get to fix people."
Kai snorted. "I glue them together and hope biology doesn't hold a grudge."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"You ever get tired of it?" she asked.
"Of death?"
"Yes."
He thought for a moment.
Then: "I get tired of pretending I'm not scared of it."
Rhea looked at him.
Really looked.
No jokes.
No noise.
Just Kai.
Human.
"…Me too," she said.
A long pause.
Hospital sounds filled the space.
Distant footsteps.
A trolley.
A laugh that didn't belong to them.
Kai rubbed the back of his neck.
"For what it's worth… I'm glad you're here."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "For emotional support?"
"For reminding me that not everything ends on a metal table."
Her throat moved.
She took a sip of tea to hide it.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"Professionally."
They stood closer than before.
Neither pointed it out.
Evan sat in the interrogation room again that night.
Same chair.
Same table.
Different weight.
Noah stood behind him.
A presence.
A promise.
The pressure hadn't come yet.
But Evan could already feel its shadow.
Like distant thunder inside his ribs.
He whispered, barely audible:
"Don't let them turn me into a tool."
Noah answered without hesitation.
"I won't."
And for the first time since this began—
Evan believed someone.