Chapter 4: The Silent Shadow

Davina's POV:

The further I walked from City General, the more the initial shock began to morph into a gnawing unease. Every passing car seemed to slow a fraction too long, every pedestrian who glanced my way held my gaze for just a moment too long.

It was probably just paranoia, the lingering residue of the day's bizarre and unsettling events. But the feeling persisted, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck that whispered I wasn't alone. That someone was following me. Just as I was trying to rationalize my growing anxiety, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was an unfamiliar local number. Hesitantly, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Davina? It's Cecilia." Her voice sounded strained and composed.

"Cecilia? How did you get my number? What's wrong?" My heart lurched. Had something happened to my father?

"Look, I... I'm so sorry about what happened earlier," she said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. "My mother... she's just been under a lot of stress. It wasn't right of her to treat you like that."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me – a flicker of vindication mixed with a lingering hurt. "It was pretty awful, Cecilia."

"I know, and I told her so," Cecilia insisted. "Anyway... Malcolm.. your dad... calmed down a bit. And... he actually asked about you."

My steps faltered. He asked about me? After telling me to get out? "What did he say?"

"He... he didn't say much," Cecilia admitted. "But he seemed... regretful. He wants to apologize for how he acted. He thinks maybe... maybe things got off on the wrong foot. Would you... would you consider coming back to the hospital? Just to... clear the air?"

The idea was unsettling. Part of me wanted to run as far away from that place and my fractured family as possible. But another part, a stubborn flicker of hope or perhaps just a desperate need for answers, hesitated. "He really wants to apologize?"

"Yes," Cecilia affirmed, her voice sounding genuinely earnest. "Please, Davina. Just give him a chance to explain. Maybe... maybe we can all try to understand what's going on."

I chewed on my lip, the feeling of being watched still nagging at the edge of my awareness. But the possibility of understanding, of finally piecing together the fragments of my father's strange behavior, was a powerful lure. "Okay," I said slowly. "Okay, Cecilia. I'll come back."

"Thank you, Davina," she said, a hint of relief in her voice. "We'll meet you in his bedroom."

I hung up, a sense of weary resignation settling over me. Another trip to that sterile, emotionally charged place. As I changed direction, heading back towards the hospital, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being observed.

I glanced over my shoulder, trying to be discreet, but the busy street offered no clear indication of who, if anyone, was paying me undue attention. A tall man in a dark jacket seemed to linger near a shop window, but he could just as easily be waiting for someone.

Despite Cecilia's call and the fragile hope it offered, the prickling sensation persisted. Someone was still watching me, their presence a silent, unseen weight adding to the already heavy burden of the day.

The sterile scent of antiseptic, which had offered a false sense of safety upon my return, now felt suffocating.

Upon entering the room, I realised Federica or Cecilia were not here. The room was dark. The silence deafening. I walked a bit closer to my father. The smell in the room was laced with the metallic tang of fresh blood. I glimpsed on my father’s bandages. His wounds seemed to be open again, fresh blood prickled. The fluorescent lights hummed with an almost predatory buzz as I edged further into the dimly lit room.

Malcolm lay still beneath the thin white sheets, his breathing shallow and uneven. A fragile sense of pity, a feeling I hadn’t expected, flickered within me. I went closer to him, trying to take a look on his wounds. My back now turned to the the curtain splitting the room in two. 

Then the sound of steps turned my attention behind me. A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom near the window. A man. He was taller than Nathan, with a lean, almost predatory build, stepped into the faint light filtering through the blinds. His face was sharp, all angles and harsh lines, his eyes dark and intense, locking onto me with an unnerving focus. He moved with a silent grace that spoke of coiled power.

A startled gasp escaped my lips. "Who are you?" The question hung in the sterile air, unanswered.

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The Stranger's POV:

The subtle shift in the room told me she was there. I let the shadows near the window cling to me a moment longer, observing, before detaching myself. It was time. As I moved into the sliver of light from the blinds, her gaze snapped to me. A gasp, soft and sharp, escaped her lips.

Davina. She was even more captivating than my sources suggested. Her eyes, wide with surprise and a flicker of fear, were a vibrant contrast to the sterile room. Her face, framed by what I could now see was a cascade of dark hair, held a delicate beauty, a vulnerability that only sharpened my intent. I felt a familiar, predatory hum deep in my chest. She was a prize, and I intended to claim her.

"Who are you?" Her voice, though trembling slightly, held an unexpected resilience. The question hung between us, but I offered no answer. Not yet. There was a silent power play unfolding, and I was in no hurry to reveal my hand. This was only the beginning.