90

THEA

I wake up to the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic and the sound of a slow, steady beep… beep… beep that tells me I’m still here. Alive.

Albeit barely.

I blink up at the ceiling—white, clinical, too bright. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and even then, everything feels like I’m underwater. Blurry, cold and floating.

My chest aches. My mouth tastes like dust.

Then, my eyes catch the movement and my ear catches the little sigh of what I think is… relief?

Two figures hover beside the bed. A blur of navy and white.

I blink again, and they sharpen.

A woman in a police uniform, arms crossed with a notepad in one hand. Her badge catches the light.

Next to her is a man in a lab coat. Soft. Clipboard in hand and a stethoscope around his neck.

“Ah. You’re awake.” The doctor steps forward, voice gentle. “Take your time. You fainted.”

I part my lips, but only a rasp comes out.

He pours me a small glass of water and brings the straw to my mouth. I sip slowly, the cold sliding down like relief.

“You inhaled quite a bit of debris. Dust and smoke, mostly. Your body went into shock,” he explains. “But your vitals are good now. A few bruises, nothing broken. We’ll discharge you today. I’ve left your prescriptions at the desk.”

I nod slightly, my body feels like it’s made of lead.

“And this,” he gestures to the woman beside him, “is Officer Freya Lawrence. She’s here to ask a few questions. Standard procedure after... well, whatever that was.”

His expression flickers, just for a second, uncertain as he searches my eyes.

I try to sit up, but the cop steps in quickly.

“Take it slow,” she says. Voice firm, but not unkind. “No rush. Just need a statement while it’s still fresh.”

The doctor gives me a soft smile of encouragement and backs out of the room.

Then it’s just us.

Freya pulls up a chair, flipping open her notepad, pen poised.

I glance at the IV in my hand. The small bruises forming along my arms. The ache in my ribs.

Then I meet her eyes.

Professional. Amber. She’s probably done this a thousand times.

I wonder if she’s ever interviewed someone who watched two vampires rip each other apart in the middle of a bar before fainting just after seeing a man with blood-like wings appear.

“Can you tell me your name?” she starts.

“Thea Carlisle,” I say quietly.

“Occupation?”

“I’m… the managing director of Harrington & Vale. I also run my own fashion brand. HMA.”

Funny the things you remember when your life's unraveling. Like the fact that I never turned in my resignation.

She jots it down.

“And what do you remember about what happened last night?”

My lips press together.

God.

What do I say?

“I remember…” I pause, staring at the wall. “I was at a bar. With a friend.”

“Name?”

I hesitate, then say, “Malik.”

She doesn’t react. Just keeps writing.

“And what happened next?”

“I don’t… really know.” My voice is soft, vague. “It all happened so fast. There was an argument. Between Malik and… someone else.”

“Someone else?” she raises a brow. “Do you know who?”

I pause for too long.

She tilts her head. “You said the fight was between your friend and someone else. Can you describe the second man?”

Tall. Dark. Devastating.

The man who broke my soul and kissed me through the pain.

“No,” I lie. “It was loud. Crowded. I think I was already dizzy. Maybe from the drinks.”

“You weren’t drunk,” she says easily. “We ran your tox report. No alcohol. No drugs. Just adrenaline.”

I glance away.

“So what happened during the fight?”

“They were arguing. It got physical. People started running. I remember screaming. Chairs breaking.” I rub my arms. “And then… nothing. I think I passed out.”

Her brow knits slightly. “You didn’t see anything else?”

You mean the part where red glowing fists flew through the air? Or when time seemed to stop? Or maybe when I saw something similar to a void open in the middle of the room and a man with blood-like wings exit from it?

“No,” I whisper.

She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Ms. Carlisle… multiple witnesses say something—strange—happened in that bar. People described… shadows. Dark energy. Someone even said wings.”

I look at her, blank-faced. “Wings?”

She holds my gaze.

“I fainted,” I say simply. “I don’t know what I saw. I think people panic. When they’re scared, they fill in the blanks.”

She watches me for a long time, tapping her pen lightly against the page.

“You’re sure?”

I nod.

A small sigh escapes her. She scribbles something final in her notes, then flips the pad closed.

“Alright.” She stands. “We might call again if we need more details. But… thanks for your time.”

I nod again, still not meeting her eyes.

She pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth, I hope your friend’s okay.”

I don’t say anything.

Because I don’t know who she means anymore.

Then she’s gone.

The room is quiet again.

Except this time, there’s no beeping.

Just the sound of my heart breaking all over again.

The silence wraps around me like gauze soaked in salt.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold it in—whatever it is.

But it leaks anyway.

The ache.

The confusion.

The cruel, unbearable hope.

Why?

Why did he break me, only to act like he still cared?

Why did he throw me away, only to come charging across the bar like a man possessed?

And why—God, why—does he make it so fucking hard to hate him in peace?

I want to hate him.

I need to.

I want to burn every memory of his touch from my skin, erase every moment his voice ever softened for me. I want to forget the way he looked at me like I was the only thing tethering him to this world.

But I can’t.

Because all I can see—still—is the way he looked at me when he pulled Malik off me.

Like the world had stopped.

Like he would tear down anything in his path.

Even his own brother.

Even himself.

And now he’s just… gone.

Again.

And I hate that I’m lying here wondering if he’s okay.

What if he’s not?

What if this—this chaos, this pain—what if it was never about not loving me?

What if it was about protecting me?

From something bigger. From something darker. From him.

What if this is the reason he did what he did in the first place?

And now—now that he’s vanished without a trace, without a goodbye, without a single explanation—

All I can think is: what if I never get to ask him?

What if I never get to see him again?

What if that really was goodbye?

And even if it was…

Why does it still feel like my heart is the one left bleeding?

I shut my eyes before peeling it open.

And I wait.

I watch the last of the clear liquid drip into my veins, the bag hanging above me slowly deflating.

And when it’s done, I reach up, grip the tube, and yank.

Pain flashes through my arm, but I don’t flinch.

I press the gauze down hard and grab a nearby plaster. It’s not neat. It’s not clean. But it’ll hold.

I get up, legs still a little unsteady beneath me. But they move.

And that’s all I need right now.

I finish the paperwork at the desk. Collect the meds they prescribe, even though I probably won’t take them. Smile thinly at the nurse who tells me to “take it easy.”

I step outside.

Still in the hospital gown.

The breeze bites at my legs as I flag down a taxi. One finally stops, the driver eyeing me curiously as I slide in and murmur my address.

I don’t care what I look like.

I just want to get home.

When we pull up in front of my place, I tell the driver to wait. “Just a minute. I’ll bring cash.”

He nods and leans back. Probably thinks I’m going to run. I don’t blame him.

I come back a few minutes later and hand him the fare. Then, I turn back towards my house.

I push the door open and walk inside, the house dark and still. Like it’s waiting for something. I grab my phone from the couch where I left it last.

My hands tremble slightly as I unlock it.

There's one message from Shirley.

Shirley: Finn’s okay. He’s with me now. We baked cookies. He’s asking about you, but I told him you’re just resting and that you’ll be back soon. Take your time, sweetheart. We’ve got him.

I blink, holding the phone to my chest for a second, letting the relief wash through me.

He’s safe.

He’s safe.

But I still feel like I can’t breathe.

I swipe quickly and start typing.

Me: Thank you, Shirley. I mean it. Truly. I still have some things to take care of though. Some mess to sort through.

Me: Please take care of Finn for me a little while longer. I’ll come get him once it’s all handled. I promise.

My fingers hover for a second before I add the last line.

Me: And while you’re at it… please protect him from his father. Don’t let Sebastian near him.

I hit send.

I trace Shirley's pay.pal to her email and drop a couple thousand dollars in it.

Then I finally exhale.

Because it’s not over.

Not even close.

It's time to start.