The atmosphere near the hospital was a different breed of chaos. The moment the police cruiser doors opened, the air was swallowed by a wall of sound, shouted questions, the frantic strobe of camera flashes, and the rhythmic thud of boots on pavement.

  ?Kira’s lungs burned. The simple act of moving from the car to the sliding glass doors was a physical battle against the crush of the crowd. Inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic did little to calm the adrenaline. A pair of nurses intercepted them immediately, their eyes scanning for trauma.

  ?"Actually, we’re good," Kevin said, his voice strained but steady.

  ?The nurse nodded, already turning toward a more urgent case, but Kira’s hand shot out, catching the woman’s sleeve. "Actually," Kira interjected, stepping away from Kevin as if to distance herself from the admission, "he’s got a scratch. On the hand. I don’t know how deep it is."

  ?Across the triage area, the scene shifted. A doctor, moving with a controlled, high-velocity urgency, skidded to a halt at the reception desk. His eyes bypassed the charts and landed squarely on Hana Rosse, who sat calmly while a nurse dabbed at the blood on her forehead.

  ?Without a word of consultation, the doctor crossed the floor and took Hana’s hand in his. The intimacy of the gesture was a lightning strike in a room full of strangers.

  ?"They know each other," Kira murmured, the question directed at no one in particular.

  ?"I don't know. Maybe," a voice answered right at her ear.

  ?Kira jolted, her heart hammering against her ribs. She turned to find Kevin standing far too close. "Why are you here? Why are you following me?"

  ?Kevin’s mouth twisted into a smirk, though his eyes remained sharp. "Why are you so surprised? Are you avoiding me?"

  ?"No. No, why would I?"

  ?"Of course," he said, his tone dropping. "You don't have to feel guilty, Kira. I got myself hurt at the back door of the cafe. It wasn't some grand gesture to save you."

  ?Kira’s lip curled in a reflex of defensive habit. "Really? Then you’re just as clumsy as I thought."

  ?"Is that so?" Kevin asked, but his attention was already drifting back to the doctor. "The way he’s holding her... he knows her well."

  ?"Sure he does," Kevin agreed, his professional instincts overriding the sarcasm. "I have a plan. Just follow my lead."

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  ?"Why would I follow you?"

  ?"To absorb them," Kevin whispered, leaning in. "Why else? If you tag along, they’ll just assume you’re my girlfriend, too much to lose to cause a scene. Just follow. We can get something here."

  ?A nurse approached, gesturing for them to follow her to a semi-private treatment bay to dress Kevin's hand. As they entered, they found themselves in the immediate orbit of Hana and the doctor.

  ?Kevin and Kira shared a small, tense smile, a silent pact of observation, as they sat on the neighboring bed. To sell the "natural" look Kevin had suggested, Kira draped a hand over his arm. He stiffened slightly, a flash of genuine confusion crossing his face, but he didn't pull away.

  ?"Does it hurt?"

  ?The voice was a deep, resonant echo that seemed to vibrate in the small room.

  ?"Hmm-mm," Hana replied, a soft, non-committal hum.

  ?A heavy silence descended, thick and suffocating. Kira and Kevin watched, paralyzed by the sheer comfort Hana seemed to find in the doctor’s presence. It was shattered by a nurse bursting into the room, her composure frayed.

  ?"Doctor! The other patient from the accident... he’s causing a scene."

  ?"What is the issue?" the doctor asked, his voice a flat, calm lake.

  ?"He’s demanding to see you."

  ?The doctor didn't move. He continued to clean the edges of Hana’s wound with a terrifying patience.

  ?"It feels like I’m watching a movie," Kira whispered.

  ?"I know," Kevin replied, his gaze locked, unblinking.

  ?The door swung open, and the old man from the street, the attacker, was ushered in. He was covered in minor bruises, his hands stained with blood that looked self-inflicted.

  ?The doctor finally glanced up. "Can I ask you why I have to be the one to treat you?" he asked, methodically discarding the used, crimson-stained cotton into the bin.

  ?"She’s a witch!" the old man bellowed, his finger trembling as he pointed at Hana. "She doesn't need treatment! She can look into those faces while smiling!" He gestured wildly at the other patients, his voice cracking with a desperate, jagged grief.

  ?Kira leaned toward the nurse bandaging Kevin. "What’s his name? The doctor?"

  ?"That’s Dr. Victor Vane," the nurse whispered. "He’s our Chief Trauma Surgeon."

  ?"A trauma surgeon?" Kevin questioned, his brow furrowing. "A surgeon of that caliber is treating a minor forehead laceration?"

  ?"I don't know," the nurse admitted, her voice low. "My colleague was supposed to treat her, but he took over. We’re just as confused as you are."

  ?Victor gestured to the bed beside Kevin and Kira. "I will treat you. Help him sit."

  ?Once the old man was settled, Victor did something that stopped the breath in the room. He reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from Hana’s wound, his touch lingering with a terrifying tenderness. The room went still. The nurses, Kevin, Kira, they stood like statues in a gallery of the absurd.

  ?The old man surged forward, his face contorted, a fist raised to strike the doctor. But Kevin was faster. He stepped into the man’s space, his palm flat against the man’s chest, disrupting his balance just enough to force him back onto the mattress.

  ?Victor didn't even flinch. He sat down and began treating the old man’s wounds with the same clinical grace he’d shown Hana. Hana rose slowly, offering Victor a haunting, knowing smile before slipping out of the room.

  ?Kira sank onto the bed beside Kevin, letting out a long, ragged sigh. "That was... that was not nothing."

  ?As Victor turned his gaze toward them, they both managed a mask of normalcy, smiling back with practiced ease. Kira gripped Kevin’s arm, offered a quick thanks to the nurse, and pulled him toward the exit. They needed to move. The air in that room was beginning to feel like a confession.