Chapter 23 – A Quiet Morning, A Storm Beneath
When Thomas opened his eyes, the room was awash in sterile white light and the clean scent of disinfectant. The soft hum of machines and the distant chatter of hospital staff filtered through the thin curtain separating his bed from the rest of the ward. For a few seconds, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. His body felt heavy, but not in pain—more like a fatigue that had sunk deep into his bones.
A few moments later, a gentle knock on the doorframe preceded the entrance of a nurse in a pale blue uniform. She smiled when she saw him awake.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she said kindly, checking the clipboard at the foot of his bed. "You're finally awake. How are you feeling?"
Thomas blinked, gathering his thoughts. "Tired," he answered honestly. "But… okay, I think." His voice was a little hoarse.
The nurse nodded. "That's good to hear. You were admitted last night—well, very early morning. The doctors say you're healthy overall, just exhausted. Some scratches, but nothing serious. You'll be just fine after some rest."
Thomas sat up slowly. "Where's Sister Mary?" he asked immediately.
The nurse looked up, surprised by the urgency in his tone. "She's doing well. She's in another room, just down the hall. She was given something—an inhalant sedative. It knocked her out, but she regained consciousness a few hours ago. She's been asking for you too."
Thomas let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Relief washed over him.
"You're cleared to go see her, if you'd like," the nurse added, gesturing toward the hallway.
He didn't need to be told twice.
Sister Mary's hospital room was quiet, with a vase of white flowers placed neatly on the windowsill. The woman who had been his constant guardian and light through the orphanage years sat upright on the bed, looking out the window.
She turned when she heard the door, and her expression crumpled in a second.
"Thomas…" Her voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes.
He walked to her, hesitated only a moment before she pulled him into a tight embrace.
"You saved me," she whispered into his hair. "You… you brave, beautiful boy."
Thomas didn't say anything. He just closed his eyes, allowing himself the warmth of that embrace.
When they pulled apart, Sister Mary looked at him with a mixture of wonder and worry. "How did you do it, Thomas? How did you find me? How did you get me out of there?"
Thomas hesitated.
Could he tell her? About Blink, about Reach, about Echo? About the things he could feel and hear, the places he could reach without walking? About the bullets that turned around? The shadows he danced through in the night?
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Sister Mary must've seen the conflict in his eyes. She reached out and took his hand.
"You don't have to explain right now," she said gently. "When you're ready. I told them we ran together to the station. That you helped me escape and brought the files. I… I didn't mention anything else. I knew you'd explain when you could."
Thomas looked at her with wide eyes. He nodded slowly. "Thank you… Sister Mary."
She smiled. "There's nothing to thank me for. I know your heart, Thomas. That's all I need."
In that moment, he felt something tighten and soften at the same time in his chest. To be seen, to be trusted—not for what he could do, but for who he was—meant everything.
One day, he thought, I will tell her everything.
Later that day, still under hospital care but allowed to walk, Thomas found a quiet spot by the window where he could read the newspaper someone had left behind. His picture wasn't on the front page—but his story was.
"Boy Hero Saves Children from Trafficking Attempt", the headline read.
There was no name mentioned, at the request of Child Protective Services, who now closely guarded the boy's identity. The article described how the evidence had been smuggled to the police—how one boy had played a key role in breaking through a massive ring that had, until now, gone untouched.
It named no names. But Thomas knew.
He read on: "Authorities confirm that the syndicate's operations may have included multiple orphanages across the country, with ties to both business figures and political actors. Investigations are underway."
Fifteen children, including Fiona, had been rescued from the outskirts of London that morning. They were safe.
The organization had been operating in silence for years, hiding behind paperwork and "care facilities" that masked horrors. And it was only luck—or a child's impossible determination—that had cracked it open.
He folded the newspaper slowly and rested his head against the cool windowpane.
This was far from over.
But it was a start.
He thought of Daisy and Johnny, and the others. Of Sister Mary, still healing. Of the warmth he tried to give in a place that had grown cold.
This, he thought, is why I'm here.
To protect.
To expose.
To fight.
Even if he had to hide his power a little longer.