"Why the hell were you staring at me like that?" Meilin snapped, whirling back to Yichen, her tone more biting than she intended. "I'm not one of your patients."
Yichen didn't blink. "No, you're worse. You don't listen."
She laughed and walked back from the railing of the roof, still racing from all that had transpired an hour before in the ER. "So now I'm responsible we have a saboteur loose in the hospital?"
He walked behind her, eyes furrowed but not in anger. "You're accusing the wrong person."
"You're right," she grumbled. "I should be furious at that guy who switched the IV. But he's gone. So you're it."
A hesitation. Then, softly—
"You were afraid."
Meilin stiffened. It wasn't asked. It wasn't sarcastic. It was simply true.
"I hate that I was," she breathed, the tension between her shoulders finally releasing. "I hate that I feel inadequate. That something like this can occur right before our eyes. And I didn't know it was coming."
"You saw more than most would," Yichen said, walking past her, placing his tea cup next to hers. "That's what makes you dangerous, Meilin. Not your fear. Your instinct."
She blinked. That wasn't an insult.
But before she could say anything else, the emergency siren within the hospital sounded again.
She and Yichen exchanged a look.
"Let's go."
Within Qingmei Medical Center, the pandemonium had begun anew. The unknown patient who had appeared mysteriously before was now gone from his bed. Security guards were already yelling down the corridor, and Dr. Wen was striding out of the control room, clipboard in hand and a scowl capable of killing.
"What do you mean he vanished?!"" he bellowed at the nurses' station. "He had head trauma! He couldn't even sit up!"
Rui came in just behind Meilin, his face impassive. "Surveillance?"
"Someone severed the bitching feed," Wen spat.
Meilin faced Yichen. "Is this… is this an inside job?"
Yichen's teeth were clenched. "It's more than that."
And then the strain snapped.
"Everyone, stand still!" a voice called from behind them.
They turned to see two men in plain clothes flashing ID cards. "City security. We've been tracking a drug ring operating out of hospitals. Looks like your mystery patient isn't a victim. He's bait."
The morning sun streamed cold through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of Qingmei Medical Center. It ought to have been a new beginning, but it was laden with tension that hung over the hospital like a mist. Within the staff lounge, the interns remained in shocked silence while the senior physicians grilled them individually. There were no grins, no jokes, not even Jiahao's typical breakfast rumors.
One of the patients had slipped away during the dead of night. Not any patient—a purported smuggler who'd pretended to be ill and vanished after altering restricted materials. And now, one among them was being accused of assisting him.
Dr. Zhao Yichen stood before the room, arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning every face. His piercing gaze didn't waver as he continued.
"We think one of you had unauthorized contact with the patient. This isn't a game. Whatever you're involved in put lives in jeopardy."
Meilin's stomach twisted. It wasn't guilt—she knew she'd done nothing—but the weight of suspicion was intolerable. It hung over all of them, making every breath suspicious.
The head of the department, Wen Lian, appeared to be exhausted. "We're not accusing. We're investigating. We'll check the logs, look at the footage, and whoever assisted him in escaping—intern or no—will be accountable."
The instant she had uttered those words, eyes were on Rui.
Not that he had a guilty look on his face.
But because he'd uttered nothing the entire morning.
Normally composed and self-assured, Rui had his hands folded in front of him, knuckles white, as though he were restraining more than mere nerves.
Once the meeting broke up, Meilin dashed to the breakroom. She needed air. She needed caffeine. She needed not to scream.
The coffee machine was taking its sweet time, wheezing and sputtering before finally depositing a half-full cup. She picked it up and turned around—only to bump straight into Dr. Yichen.
Coffee spilled, but not a drop on her, so it didn't count. Her heart was already leaping.
"Seriously?" she grumbled, attempting not to be too breathless.
He gazed down at her cup. "Your blood caffeine levels must be dangerously low."
She blinked. "That's… are you kidding?"
His lips twitched just slightly. "Don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my rep."
For a moment, the burden was lifted. Just one.
Then he added, "Meet me at the second-floor nurse station at noon. We're going over patient files together."
She groaned. "But that's my break."
"Think of it as extra credit," he said and strode away.
She didn't miss the smirk he was wearing when he turned the corner.
At noon, she found herself there—barely on time. He was already present, clipboard in hand.
"We're going over the transfer chart for patient Lan Ying."
Meilin tried to focus, but the proximity of him, the seriousness on his face, the way his fingers tapped the clipboard all of it was distracting. Not because she had a crush, of course. Definitely not. It was… professional intimidation. That's what it was.
"Why is the antibiotic dose marked twice?" he asked suddenly.
She leaned closer. "Could be a mis-entry."
"Or someone doubled the dosage intentionally."
Meilin glanced at him. "You think someone was trying to hurt her?"
"I think we're up to our necks in something more than we anticipated."
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were turbulent. Meilin tracked his gaze as he surveyed the corridor.
"Someone's tracking us," he said.
She turned, but there was nothing there.
Despite that, a shiver went down her spine.
That night, the interns congregated in the courtyard. The sun was setting, streaking the sky with burnt orange. It would have been a great time to unwind, laugh, tease one another like in the good old days.
But no one was in the mood to laugh.
Rui leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Jiahao kicked a rock, strangely quiet. Chen Yan knelt on a bench, nervously playing with her bracelet. Meilin spoke up first.
"This is like some sort of test."
Jiahao snorted. "Yeah. Except the test has no directions and no one knows if we're already failing."
Chen Yan's eyes went to Rui. "You okay?"
He didn't turn to her. "Fine."
Liar.
No one pressed, though.
Instead, Meilin stood. "Let's get our heads together. We can't disintegrate. Not now."
Jiahao raised an eyebrow. "Who anointed you team leader?"
"Yichen did," she said, then saw too late how it sounded.
"Oooooh," Chen Yan grinned. "The plot thickens."
"Shut up."
Jiahao laughed. "She's blushing."
"Dead. All of you."
They laughed, briefly. Just long enough to remember they were human again.
Meilin stayed late that night for chart updates. The hospital corridors were that uncanny quiet only a hospital could be calm, sterile, and strangely alive with soft footsteps and faraway machine beeps.
She approached the records room when she heard it. A shuffle. A whisper. Someone breathing too near the wall.
She spun around—no one.
But something was there.
A half-open folder on the floor. She picked it up.
It was Rui's.
Inside: patient notes. Beautiful handwriting. Precise timings. All accounted for
Too perfect.
She didn't want to believe it.
She didn't want to feel it.
But something didn't add up.
The next day, Meilin sat in the meeting room with Yichen. She pushed the folder over to him.
"Found this outside the OR. Someone was in last night."
He ran through it silently. His expression revealed nothing.
"Rui's?"
She nodded.
He put the folder down, fingers together under his chin.
"You suspect he's the mole?"
"No," she replied hastily. "But I think someone is using his ID. Or plagiarizing his notes."
"Or… he's covering for someone."
She clamped down on her lip. "If that's the case, why would he cover for them?"
Yichen caught her gaze. "Guilt makes people loyal. Even to the wrong person."
The scene closed with Rui alone on the rooftop, staring out over the city, phone in hand, fingers shaking.
A message flashed on the screen:
"Did you delete the folder?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he erased the message, rose to his feet, and left without a glance back.