The stretcher's wheels rattled beneath me, louder than the nurses' voices. I felt the tug of their hands, the sting of antiseptic, the firm press of a cuff on my arm. Every sensation was sharp. Even the smallest sound felt like it vibrated through my skull.
The pain from the bullets had faded. My body was still sore, but it wasn't the raw, fiery ache it had been.
What hurt more was the cold. The hunger. The fear. The running. The constant awareness of how close death had been—the fear that the men who left me in the woods would catch me first. That my blood would stain the earth before I could find an escape.
Being locked away in silence, being forgotten in darkness, had done something worse than bind my limbs. It hollowed me. And now, lying in this sterile, white room, I could still feel that emptiness creeping in.
When I woke, the lights were softer. Machines clicked quietly around me, like a quiet symphony playing for an audience who wasn't yet awake. My mouth tasted like metal and cotton. My body throbbed, but it wasn't screaming anymore.
They'd cleaned me. Stitched what they could. Hooked me to warmth, fluids, and whatever kept the fog from dragging me under.
I was alive.
I turned my head slowly, like a slow-motion ache. A nurse was scribbling something near the window. Her back was to me, but she must've sensed the change. She looked up and met my gaze. Her eyes softened, like she'd expected me to wake sooner, but wasn't sure if I'd be the same when I did.
"You're up," she said gently. "That's good. We've been monitoring you."
I blinked slowly. "How long?"
"Almost twelve hours," she replied, her voice soothing, calming. "You were severely dehydrated. Your wounds… not fresh, but infected. You've been through a lot."
I winced as I shifted my shoulder. The bruises along my ribs throbbed in quiet protest. The worst was over, but my body hadn't caught up to that truth. Neither had my mind.
I looked toward the door. "Is he still here?"
The nurse's face softened. "He's outside. Didn't want to leave, even when visiting hours ended. Said he'd wait till you woke up."
A knot formed in my throat.
He could've left. He should've left. But he didn't.
She came closer, adjusting the blanket over me. "You're safe now, Mercy. The police might want to talk to you later… but only if you're ready."
Mercy. The name I'd given Eli. A name pulled from panic and necessity. A name that bought me anonymity when everything else had been stolen. It didn't feel like mine. Not entirely. But in this room, under the watch of strangers, it was the only thing I could hold on to.
I nodded weakly, forcing my gaze to the ceiling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
When the nurse stepped out, I stared at the ceiling. The white tiles blurred together in the dim light. The ache behind my eyes built until the tears came—slow and quiet, like a storm gathering but not yet breaking.
They hadn't killed me.
But I wasn't free. Not yet.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
The door eased open, and there he was—Eli. His hair was messier than before, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. His jacket was folded neatly under one arm, like he hadn't left the hallway all night. The lines of his face were drawn, but there was something in his eyes that softened when he saw me.
"You're awake," he said, relief loosening his voice. "Thank God."
He crossed the room carefully, like he was afraid he'd break something—me, maybe. I nodded, swallowing hard. His presence brought warmth I hadn't known I'd missed until it was there again. His worry, the way he moved toward me so carefully, like I was fragile. I could feel it in my bones.
"I brought these," he said, holding up a flimsy plastic bag. "Not much. Just some juice and… crackers. You don't have to eat now. I just didn't want you to wake up hungry."
I blinked fast. "You stayed?"
His brow furrowed, like the question surprised him. "'Course I did."
He set the bag on the side table and pulled the chair closer. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. Just full. Full of things neither of us were ready to say, yet.
I met his eyes, expecting doubt, maybe pity, but all I found was calm.
"You don't have to explain anything," he added softly. "Not until you want to."
Something in my chest eased. The tightness I hadn't realized was there unwound a little. I didn't trust easily. But maybe… maybe trust could start here. In this hospital room. In the quiet after the chaos.
A knock broke the quiet.
Eli stood, his body stiffening as the door opened, revealing two uniformed officers. Their presence hit me like a wave—too much, too soon.
"Sorry to interrupt," one said, polite but firm. "We need to ask a few questions."
Eli glanced at me, then started to rise. "I'll wait outside."
I reached for his wrist without thinking. "Stay. Please."
He paused, eyes searching mine. There was a flicker of surprise, then something softer—like relief. As if my need for him gave him permission to stay.
The officers looked between us, then gave a small nod.
"All right. Just a few things. Your name is Mercy?"
My breath caught. The name made my chest tighten, like it didn't quite belong to me. It was still too new, too unfamiliar, but it was the only shield I had left.
I glanced at Eli, then at the officers, then back at my hands. They were waiting.
I gave the smallest nod I could manage. "Yes."
"Do you remember how you got to the forest? Who might've done this to you?"
My gaze dropped to the blanket. My jaw clenched before I could stop it. Images rushed at me—rough hands, locked doors, Jason's voice, the silence that followed.
My voice, when it came, felt like it had to push past miles of noise. "I escaped," I whispered. My own words barely recognized me.
The second officer scribbled something down. The other leaned in, his voice low, but firm. "Do you know anyone who might be looking for you? Anyone you trust?"
My lips parted, but nothing came. There was no one I could trust—not really. I barely knew how I ended up here, in this room, with Eli.
Another firmer knock at the door.
The door opened before anyone could answer.
A nurse stepped in, flustered. "Apologies... someone's here. Says he knows her. Insisted on seeing her."
The officers stiffened. "Name?"
"He said... her name is Janica."
My stomach dropped.
The officer closest to me turned sharply. "Janica? Is that your real name?"
I froze. Eli's head turned toward me, silent, but I could feel the shift in him.
Before I could answer, footsteps pounded from the hallway.
Then the door swung open—
Jason.
Clean-shaven. Shirt buttoned and tucked. Not a scratch on him. But the storm in his eyes was unmistakable. Haunted. Wrecked. When they met mine, he stilled like he'd been holding his breath for days.
"Janica," he breathed, voice cracking.
And beside him stood a woman. Short curls. Bold stare. Her frame was athletic, and the way she carried herself made it clear—she was used to authority. She didn't touch Jason, but something in their proximity tightened the air.
She looked… intentional.
My heart twisted.
She stood. Confident. Familiar. Like she belonged in his world.
I swallowed hard. The room seemed
to shrink as everyone turned toward me.
And I couldn't tell if the tremble in my chest was from relief… or betrayal.