CHAPTER THREE: Written Between the Lines

Chapter 3: Written Between the Lines

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the worn black cover of my notebook lying open on Dominic Reid’s desk.

He had read it.

Or at least… some of it.

The thought alone was enough to make me bury my face in my pillow.

“What kind of idiot leaves her entire life behind?” I muttered into the mattress.

Cassie looked up from where she was pulling on her sneakers.

“You’ve been talking to yourself for five minutes.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Failing?”

“No.”

She zipped up her backpack.

“Then what’s wrong with you?”

I hesitated.

“…Nothing.”

“Liar.”

I grabbed my notebook-less backpack and headed for the door before she could ask another question.

“If I fail today’s rounds because of you, I’m haunting you.”

“You can’t haunt people while you’re still alive.”

“I’ll find a way.”

⸻

By seven o’clock, Theatre Three had already fallen into its familiar rhythm.

Monitors.

Metal.

Quiet voices.

Dr. Reid arrived exactly on time.

Not a second early.

Not a second late.

He didn’t look at me.

Not once.

I watched him more carefully than I should have.

Searching for something.

A glance.

A question.

Anything that would tell me whether he has read my notebook...or hadn't.

The operation lasted almost three hours.

Twice he questioned the residents.

Once he questioned a registrar.

Near the end—

“Miss Vale.”

I looked up immediately.

“The artery supplying the sinoatrial node?”

“The right coronary artery, sir. In most patients.”

A pause.

“Correct.”

Nothing else.

Somehow…

That one word still felt like an achievement.

⸻

The rest of the day dragged.

Emergency ward.

Ward rounds.

Lectures.

By the time evening arrived, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones.

Even so…

I reached the VIP wing at exactly six fifty-five.

Five minutes early.

I wasn’t giving him another reason to lecture me about punctuality.

The corridor was silent.

I knocked.

“Enter.”

He was standing beside the floor-to-ceiling window, jacket folded neatly over one arm, reading a patient’s file.

He didn’t turn.

“You’re early.”

“I learned my lesson.”

“So I see.”

I placed the next set of notes on his desk.

He accepted them with a small nod before setting them aside.

Then, without a word…

He picked up something else.

My notebook.

Every muscle in my body tightened.

He held it out.

I took it so quickly our fingers almost brushed.

“Thank you.”

He was already opening my assignment.

I looked down immediately.

The elastic band was still wrapped around the notebook.

No bent pages.

No folded corners.

No loose papers.

Relief washed over me.

Maybe…

Maybe he hadn’t read it after all.

“You may leave.”

I nodded.

“Goodnight, Dr. Reid.”

No response.

Only the quiet turning of another page.

I made it halfway down the corridor before curiosity defeated relief.

I stopped beside the elevator.

Opened the notebook.

The first page.

Nothing.

Second.

Nothing.

Third.

Nothing.

A small laugh escaped me.

I’d worried for nothing.

The elevator doors slid open.

I stepped inside.

The doors began to close.

Something caught my eye.

A faint grey line near the bottom corner of a page.

I frowned.

Pressed the button to hold the elevator.

Opened the notebook again.

There.

Written neatly in pencil beneath one of my own thoughts.

Not in my handwriting.

His.

I stared at the words.

Above them, I’d written:

People only become monsters when everyone insists they are one.

Beneath it, in careful, deliberate script…

Or perhaps they become monsters because everyone was right.

I forgot to breathe.

I read it again.

Then again.

My fingers turned the next page almost frantically.

Nothing.

Another page.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing.

That was it.

Just one sentence.

One reply.

One conversation started in the margin of a notebook that had never been meant for anyone else’s eyes.

The elevator chimed.

I didn’t move.

My thoughts drifted unwillingly back to the office.

I stepped into the elevator.

The doors slid shut.

This time, I didn’t look back.

⸻

Dominic remained seated until the elevator doors outside whispered closed.

Only then did he set the assignment aside.

His gaze drifted to a worn out paper beside his laptop.

Six words.

Copied neatly in his own handwriting.

For a long moment, he simply looked at it.

Then he reached for it.

His eyes moved slowly across the handwriting.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw.

His expression revealed nothing.

He settled back into his chair.

Opened his browser.

Typed six words. Pressed Enter.

One eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly.

He studied the screen in silence.

Leaned back in his chair.

“...Hm.”