The silence in Jayson's hospital room that night was thick, only interrupted by the steady beep of machines and the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The antiseptic smell that had once bothered Nadia had become familiar—almost comforting in its constancy amid the chaos of the past few days.
Nadia sat beside him, her fingers curled around his. His hand was warm but limp, unresponsive to her touch. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin hospital blanket was the only sign that life still flowed through him. Her eyes traced the contours of his face—the stubble that had grown since the accident, the slight furrow in his brow that remained even in unconsciousness, as if he were still worrying about something.
"I don't know if you can hear me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But I need you to keep fighting. Mom is—" The words caught in her throat. "Mom is gone. And now—now I have only you."
Then, she remembered Orion's text. Watching the media file, the face appeared familiar. Even though with face cap and scarf covering half of the face, Nadia could see through it. But at the moment she can't quite place the face.
The evening shadows stretched longer across the linoleum floor. A nurse had brought her a cup of tea earlier, now cold and untouched on the side table.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked down, expecting it to be Dr. Harris with test results. Instead, her screen displayed:
Unknown Number:
Someone was here earlier. Asking your mother questions. About you and how you're coping after loosing your job. She couldn't bear it. Her heart was so fragile. Please be safe.  
Her phone nearly slipped from her trembling fingers.
"Oh God," she whispered, suddenly feeling exposed in the too-bright room with its large windows facing the hallway. She turned to look out the door's small window.
The night shift was beginning. Nurses chatted at their station. An orderly pushed a cart of supplies. Everything looked normal.
But her skin crawled with the sensation of hidden eyes.
She drew the privacy curtain around Jayson's bed with a sharp metallic screech of rings on the rod.
"Who sent this?" she muttered, staring at her phone. The message was unsigned, the number unfamiliar. But whoever sent this witnessed someone approaching her mother.
She looked at Jayson, lying there so vulnerable, connected to machines that beeped and hummed.
"They can easily find us here," she realized aloud. 
She knew then—St. Francis Hospital wasn't safe anymore.
The weight of the decision pressed down on her. She had to disappear. But where could she go? Who could she run to? Everyone she trusted was either dead, unconscious, or potentially watching her.
Just then, a name surfaced from her memory like a faded photograph—Mr. Stephen.
"Stephen Jones," she whispered, searching her memories. A distant cousin of Jayson's. Older. Quiet. Retired from some government position he never discussed. He used to live in the countryside near Eliora Valley, a place she visited with Jayson once, long ago, for some family gathering. She didn't even know if he still lived there, or if he'd recognize her.
But she had no other choice.
Jayson had no one else now. And neither did she.
She gathered her belongings quickly—her purse, Jayson's few personal items, the small overnight bag she'd been living out of for days. Then she made her way to the nurses' station, trying to keep her expression neutral despite the hammering of her heart.
"Excuse me," she said to the charge nurse. "I need to speak with Dr. Harris. It's urgent."
Twenty minutes later, she stood in his office, the blinds drawn.
"You want to do what?" Dr. Harris asked, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. "Transfer him? Now? At this hour?"
"It's not safe here anymore," Nadia insisted, her voice low but firm.
"Not safe? This is a hospital, Ms. Brown. We have security—"
"It's not enough. Some took a message to my mom in a hospital" She slid her phone across the desk, showing him the message.
Dr. Harris read it, his expression growing grave. "This could be nothing. A prank. Or..."
"Or it could be everything," Nadia finished. "Just as someone visited my mom, someone can easily visit here. I can't take the risk. Not with Jayson's life."
Dr. Harris was reluctant, running a hand through his thinning hair. "You can't move a patient in his condition without proper clearance, Nadia. There are protocols, paperwork—"
"I don't need clearance," she whispered, leaning forward. "I need safety."
It was the way she said it. Something in her eyes. Something desperate and determined that the doctor understood. He'd seen that look before—in patients and families who knew they were fighting for their lives.
After a long moment, he nodded. "I'll help. But this is highly irregular, and I could lose my license."
"Thank you," she breathed. "I wouldn't ask if there was any other way."
"Where do you plan to take him?"
"It's better if you don't know," she replied. "For your sake."
Dr. Harris picked up his phone. "Nurse Jasmine, could you come to my office? And bring the transfer forms. Yes, the unofficial ones."
Nurse Jasmine arrived moments later. Doctor Harris explained the situation—or as much as Nadia would allow—she simply nodded.
"Wouldn't be the first time we've moved a patient under special circumstances," she said, giving Nadia a knowing look. "The ambulance bay in the east wing is rarely monitored at night. I can help arrange a private transport."
"God bless you," Nadia whispered.
"Don't thank me yet," Nurse Jasmine replied, already preparing a list of equipment they would need. "Moving a coma patient isn't like packing for vacation. He needs constant monitoring, specific medications. I'll prepare enough supplies for a few days, but you'll need to establish care wherever you're going."
The next two hours passed in a blur of quiet preparation. Forms were signed—though not the official ones. Equipment was gathered. A private ambulance service that owed Dr. Harris a favor was contacted.
At 11:45 PM, Nurse Jasmine pulled Nadia aside in the empty corridor outside Jayson's room.
"I'm glad you're taking this decision. A man had come earlier while you were away. Asked for you by name at the information desk. But security turned him away." she whispered. "
Nadia's blood ran cold. "What did he look like?"
"Tall. Dark suit. Government type."
"Thank you Jasmine," Nadia said.
"You're always welcome. Take this." She pressed a small duffel bag into Nadia's hands. "Basic medical supplies, instructions, medication schedules. There's also cash—don't ask where from. Just take it."
By midnight, Jayson was wheeled through the back corridors and into the back of an unmarked ambulance—tubes, machines, and all. The driver, a taciturn man who introduced himself only as Robert, helped secure the equipment.
"One stop, no questions," he said gruffly. "That was the deal."
"That's all I need," Nadia assured him.
She climbed into the passenger seat after securing Jayson in the back. Nurse Jasmine stood at the back entrance, silhouetted by the dim emergency lights.
"Take care of him," the nurse called softly. "And yourself."
Nadia nodded, throat tight with emotion. She tied her scarf around her hair, threw on a jacket with the collar turned up, and switched off her phone, removing the battery for good measure.
The ambulance pulled away from St. Francis Hospital silently, lights off until they reached the main road.
Rain had started to fall, like a whisper against the windshield, blurring the streetlights into hazy stars.
"Where to?" Robert asked, eyes on the road.
"Head north," Nadia instructed. "Toward Eliora Valley. I'll direct you when we get closer."
She glanced once in the rearview mirror at the hospital fading behind her, its illuminated windows growing smaller with each passing second. Somewhere in there, a man in a dark suit was discovering that his quarry had vanished.
And then—
She turned her eyes to the road ahead, reaching back to place a hand on Jayson's blanketed leg.
She drove into the night.
Into the unknown.
With the only person she had left.
The rain intensified as they left the city limits, washing away their tracks, cleansing the path before them. Nadia watched the familiar landscape transform into something strange and new—a world where she was now a fugitive, carrying precious cargo, racing against unknown enemies toward an uncertain refuge.
"Hold on, Jayson," she whispered. "We're going to find help. We're going to uncover the truth. I promise."
In the back of the ambulance, the machines continued their steady rhythm, keeping time with the windshield wipers and the beat of her frightened heart.