Chapter 2

The fluorescent lights in Saint Michael's Hospital corridors hummed with a sound that made my teeth ache. Everything here was too bright, too white, too sterile. Like if they scrubbed hard enough, they could wash away the reality of what happened within these walls.

Dr. Martinez waited for me outside the elevator, her hands clasped in front of her white coat. I'd known her long enough to read her expressions. This one wasn't good.

"Miss Chen." She didn't smile. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"What's wrong?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Is Lila.."

"She's stable right now. But we need to talk." Dr. Martinez gestured toward a small consultation room. Through the window, I could see a box of tissues on the table. They always had tissues in the bad news rooms.

I followed her inside, my legs moving on autopilot.

"Lila's autoimmune disease has progressed more rapidly than we anticipated." Dr. Martinez pulled up scans on her tablet, showing me images I didn't understand, organs highlighted in colors that probably meant something terrible. "Her body is attacking itself. The kidneys are being affected now, and if we don't intervene soon..."

"What kind of intervention?" I gripped the edge of the table. "What does she need?"

"There's an experimental treatment. It's shown remarkable results in trials, an eighty-five percent success rate for patients in Lila's condition. It could save her life."

Hope flared in my chest, bright and desperate. "Okay. Yes. Whatever it is, we'll do it."

Dr. Martinez's expression didn't change. "Your insurance denied coverage. The treatment is classified as experimental, and Lila's condition falls under their pre-existing clause. I'm sorry."

The hope died as quickly as it had sparked. "How much?"

"Thirty thousand dollars."

The number hung in the air between us, impossibly large.

"And if we don't..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"We'll make her as comfortable as possible. Palliative care." Dr. Martinez's voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. "But Aria, you need to understand, without this treatment, we're looking at months. Maybe weeks."

"How long do I have to get the money?"

"Two weeks. After that, her condition will have deteriorated too far for the treatment to be effective."

Two weeks. Thirty thousand dollars. It might as well have been thirty million.

++++++++

Room 314 was at the end of the pediatric wing, decorated with cheerful murals that seemed obscene given what happened here. I stood outside for a moment, forcing my face into something that wouldn't scare Lila, then pushed open the door.

She looked so small in the hospital bed. At sixteen, she should've been out with friends, worried about exams and boys and what to wear to homecoming. Instead, she was here, dark hair spread across the pillow, her skin pale against the white sheets, an IV drip connected to her thin arm.

"Hey." Her voice was weak but she managed a smile. "That was fast. You fly here?"

"Took the bus." I pulled a chair close to her bed, fighting the urge to check all her monitors. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." She shifted slightly, wincing. "But there's this really cute resident who checked on me earlier, so that's a plus."

"Oh yeah?" I forced myself to smile. "What's his name?"

"Dr. Patterson. He has dimples." Lila's grin faded as she studied my face. "Dr. Martinez told you, didn't she?"

"Told me what?"

"Aria." She reached for my hand. "I heard them talking outside my room this morning. The treatment, the cost, all of it. I'm not stupid."

My throat tightened. "I'll figure it out. I always do, right?"

"You always do," she echoed softly. "You took care of everything after Mom and Dad died. The funeral, the bills, keeping us together when social services wanted to split us up. You gave up college for me. You work those awful jobs for me."

"Lila.."

"This is different." Her eyes were too knowing, too old for sixteen. "Thirty thousand dollars is different."

"I'll find a way."

"I'm not afraid to die, Aria."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Don't." I squeezed her hand, maybe too hard. "Don't you dare give up on me. Not now. Not ever."

"I'm not giving up." Tears slipped down her cheeks. "I'm just saying... if you can't find the money, it's okay. I don't want you to do something crazy or dangerous or.."

"I will find the money." My voice was steel. "Do you hear me? I will find it, and you're going to get better, and someday you're going to go to college and become whatever you want to be. You're going to live, Lila."

She pulled me down into a hug, her thin arms surprisingly strong around my neck. "I love you. Whatever you're thinking of doing... just remember I love you."

I held her until a nurse came in to check her vitals, then kissed her forehead and forced myself to leave before she could see me cry.

++++++++

The hospital financial aid office was sympathetic but useless. "I'm sorry, Miss Chen. Your previous medical debt disqualifies you from our assistance program."

The loan applications I filled out in the hospital café all came back the same: DENIED. Bad credit. Insufficient income. No collateral. I called Ethan from the parking lot. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.

"Aria? Hey, what's wrong?"

"I need money. A lot of it. Do you have anything, anything at all you could lend me?"

"I've got about three hundred in my account. It's yours. But what's going on?"

I explained, the words tumbling out in a rush. Ethan was my oldest friend, the only person besides Lila who'd stuck around after my parents died.

"I'll get you the money tonight," he said. "And I'll ask around, see if anyone else can help."

"Thank you."

After we hung up, I made a list on my phone:

Car (needs work, maybe $2,000)

Laptop ($200)

Mom's jewelry ($100 if I'm lucky)

Furniture ($300?)

Ethan's loan ($300)

Total: Maybe $5,000.

I needed $30,000.

The math didn't work. No matter how many times I recalculated, no matter what else I added to the list, it didn't work. I sat in the parking lot until the security guard knocked on my window, telling me visiting hours were over.

The bus stop was across the street from the hospital. I was halfway there when I noticed it, a black car with tinted windows, parked along the curb. Engine running.

My steps slowed. I'd seen that car before. Outside the Velvet Room, in the employee parking lot. I'd thought it was just another customer's ride, but now...

I couldn't see through the dark windows, but I felt eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.

My heart hammered as I hurried toward the bus stop, resisting the urge to look back. When I finally did glance over my shoulder, the car was still there, idling in the same spot.

The bus pulled up. I climbed on, swiped my card, and found a seat near the back. Through the window, I watched the black car.

It didn't follow.I told myself I was being paranoid. Told myself it was just coincidence, that grief and stress were making me see threats that weren't there.

But as the bus pulled away, I couldn't shake the chill that had settled deep in my bones. Someone was watching me..