12:47 AM
The phone slipped in Jennie's sweaty palm as she dialed. Again.
Eleven... twelve...
Straight to voicemail
That same recording - his voice teasing, careless, alive -
"Hey, it's Ethan. Leave a message or don't."
CRACK
The couch cushions swallowed her phone as she threw it. Too soft. She wanted to hear something break.
"Where the hell are you?"
Her reflection in the dark TV screen: wild eyes, bitten lips. The apartment echoed back her breathing.
No sarcastic commentary.
No bass leaking through over-ear headphones.
Just the fridge humming.
Click-click-click
Her bare feet wore paths in the carpet. The thumbnail she'd gnawed to the quick left copper on her tongue.
Jonah. He'd know.
Keys jangled like prison chains as she snatched them off the hook.
6:18 PM - ST. MARY'S HOSPITAL
The automatic doors wheezed open, exhaling antiseptic air that clung to Ethan's hoodie.
Monitor beeps. Rubber soles squeaking. Somewhere, a woman sobbed.
Ethan went to the hospital to see how his mom was, whether she was fine.
He saw no improvement, even if the doctors said she was recovering fast.
The numbers in Ethan's head hasn't changed:
- 1 year since the crash
- 15 consulations with neurologists
- 0 real responses from the woman who used to laugh at his terrible jokes
Her hands lay palms-up on the starch-white sheets. Still. Always still. Not like the hands that used to braid Jennie's hair or throw popcorn at bad movies.
A resident adjusted the IV drip. "Remarkable progress," clipboard shielding his face. "Brain activity's increased 12% this week."
Ethan watched his mother's eyelids. Waiting. Always waiting for that flutter that never came.
"They're lying to me! Why, why, why!" Ethan screamed in his mind as he walked away, wandering aimlessly
Jennie's fist hammered against Jonah's apartment door, the sound echoing through the dimly lit hallway of his student housing. The wood vibrated under her knuckles, each pound more desperate than the last.
The door finally swung open, revealing Jonah—hair a sleep-mussed wreck , his oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder like he'd dressed in a hurry. He rubbed his eyes, blinking against the harsh hallway light.
"Jennie?" His voice was thick with sleep.
"Is Ethan here?" The question tore from her throat, sharp as shattered glass. Her fingers twitched at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
Jonah's face fell, the last remnants of sleep vanishing from his expression.
"No. He left campus acting weird today, and he didn't say anything. I thought he went home."
"You let him go!" Jennie's hands shot out, gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise. She shook him once, her voice breaking. "How could you just let him walk away?"
Jonah didn't flinch, just covered her hands with his warm, steady hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't know… Let's look for him," he said, voice low but firm.
Jennie's breath hitched. The dam broke.
She collapsed against him, sobs wracking her body. Jonah held her tightly, his chin resting atop her head as she cried into his chest. The scent of his laundry detergent—something cheap and citrusy—filled her nose, grounding her just enough to pull herself together.
After a moment, he stepped back, squeezing her shoulders. "Give me two seconds."
He disappeared inside, returning moments later with his jacket and shoes.
Jennie's hands wouldn't stop shaking as she and Jonah stepped out into the cold night. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows on the pavement. She pulled her jacket tighter, but the chill in her chest had nothing to do with the wind.
Jonah suggested it first. "Maybe he went back to see his mom."
The hospital's automatic doors slid open with a hiss, the fluorescent lights too bright, the air thick with antiseptic and something heavier—fear, maybe. Or grief.
Jennie's breath caught as they turned the corner toward his mother's room. What if he's here? What if he's not?
But the chair beside the bed was empty. No Ethan slumped over in exhaustion, no half-drunk coffee on the side table. Just the steady beep of machines and his mother's shallow breathing.
A nurse glanced up from the desk. "Haven't seen your brother tonight, love."
Jennie's throat tightened.
The campus was eerily quiet at this hour, the usual hum of students replaced by the distant echo of their footsteps.
Jonah led the way to Ethan's usual haunts -
Nothing.
Jennie pressed her palms against the cold glass of the library window, peering into the dark. "Where else? Where would he go?
Jonah ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. But we'll find him."
She wanted to believe him.
The diner's neon sign buzzed, flickering like a dying heartbeat. Inside, the booths were nearly empty—just a couple of tired-looking students and the night shift waitress wiping down the counter.
Jennie's heart sank.
The waitress—Maggie, her nametag read—looked up as they walked in. Her expression softened when she saw them. "You two look like you've seen a ghost.
"Have you seen Ethan tonight?" Jennie's voice was barely above a whisper.
Maggie shook her head. "Not since this afternoon. He was in a right state—left without finishing his food."
Jonah exhaled sharply. "Did he say where he was going?"
"Just got a call and bolted." Maggie hesitated, then added, "He looked… scared."
Jennie's stomach twisted.
The streets were darker now, the silence between them heavier.
Jonah's phone buzzed—another dead end from a friend who thought they'd seen Ethan near the river.
Jennie wrapped her arms around herself, the weight of the night pressing down on her. "What if—"
"We'll keep looking," Jonah cut in, his voice firm. But even he sounded less sure now.
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Somewhere out there, Ethan was alone. And with every passing minute, the fear in her chest grew sharper.