Roy stepped into the hospital lobby, Veyra still unconscious in his arms, her body limp against him. His pace was brisk but careful, urgency tightening his jaw. As soon as he spotted a nurse walking by, he cut across the hall and stopped her.
"Excuse me! Please—this woman fainted by the roadside. She has a head wound," he said quickly. "I witnessed her collapse and brought her here immediately."
The nurse—early thirties, tired smile—stopped short and looked between him and the girl in his arms. Her gaze locked on the sluggish trail of dried blood near Veyra's temple, and the way her lips were parted slightly, breathing shallowly.
"Alright. Follow me," the nurse said calmly, her tone shifting into trained professionalism. She led him down the hall, speaking as she walked. "What exactly happened? Did you say you witnessed her collapse?"
"Yes. I don't know her personally. I was waiting by my vehicle when I saw her fall near a pharmacy storefront. She looked weak—disoriented before she went down. There was no one else close enough to help, so I brought her here."
The nurse nodded, eyeing Veyra as they turned into a corridor lined with curtain-partitioned beds.
"She likely hit her head when she fell," she murmured, gesturing toward a vacant bed. "I can see some signs of trauma. There may be a concussion. We'll need a doctor to assess the severity and run imaging."
She drew the curtain as Roy gently lowered Veyra onto the mattress. Her body flopped lightly against the hospital sheet, the stark lighting exposing the ghostly paleness under her skin.
The nurse checked her pulse, eyes flicking up at the monitor as she clipped it to Veyra's finger.
"I'll page a doctor," she said, turning to a second nurse walking by. "Nina, get his information and start the admission process. I'll get the trauma team moving."
Roy stepped back as the second nurse ushered him away.
Inside the small administrative room, Roy filled out what little information he could.
"Name?"
"I don't know hers. But mine is Roy Everand."
"Relationship to the patient?"
"I'm a stranger. I just brought her in."
The nurse paused, eyebrows rising slightly. "Alright. Since you brought her in, you're listed as the admitting party. That's not legally binding—but if you'd like to cover the cost of emergency treatment, there's a form."
"I'll cover it," Roy said without hesitation, pulling out a sleek black card from his wallet. "Also—please put her in a private room."
The nurse blinked. "That's possible. I'll arrange it now."
Once the payment was confirmed and the room requested, Roy went back to the car to get Veyra's things before handing them to the nurse.
He pulled out his phone and checked the time—his jaw ticking again. He ran a hand through his hair, the line of his shoulders tense.
As he turned to leave, the nurse stopped him at the door.
"Sir, are you sure you don't want to wait until she wakes up?"
He shook his head, already halfway out. "No."
"She might ask who brought her in. Wanting to thank you?" she pressed gently.
That gave him pause. Only for a second. He hesitated, then reached into his pocket again and pulled out a business card.
"She can contact me if she wants," he said simply, placing it on the counter. "Thank you."
And then he was gone—his long strides echoing down the hospital corridor. The nurse watched him as he exited through the main doors, disappearing into the night rush with all the urgency of a man who had somewhere to be.
Curious, she looked down at the card. Her brows slowly lifted as she registered the name and the stylized emblem stamped above it—sleek and silver.
Argon Securities.
The private security branch of Ashe-Borne Industries, one of the largest multinational conglomerates in North America.
Her eyes widened just a little. "What the hell…"
She tucked the card safely aside to give to the girl later, still shaking her head as she walked back toward the patient rooms.
Who was that man?
~*~
Roy bowed his head at the poised and elegantly dressed woman sitting on the metallic hospital chair lining the hallway, her legs crossed like she owned the floor beneath her stiletto heels—which, in many ways, she did.
"Ma'am, forgive my tardiness," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the sweat cooling on his back beneath the black fabric of his uniform.
Seliora turned slightly, her gaze flicking to him. The pristine white, ankle-length dress she wore gleamed under the dim hospital lights, layered in delicate folds that made her look more like a runway model than a woman who hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. Even seated, she looked tall—composed—with the square neckline of her custom-made dress revealing the soft, fair skin of her collarbones and arms. Her hair—ash brown, sleek, and cut in a straight bob—framed her face.
She tucked one side of it behind her ear and hummed. "What happened?"
Roy straightened, eyes forward. "On my way to report in, I witnessed a young woman faint on the roadside, not far from Maris Avenue. She had a visible head injury and no one else moved to help. I brought her to County General Hospital, got her admitted, covered her bills, and ensured she was transferred to a private room. After that, I came here immediately."
Seliora's expression didn't shift at first. Then a ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I won't be angry with you for doing something good," she said softly.
But the smile vanished a second later, like it had been nothing but a mirage. "However… Kaelith is now in a vulnerable period because of the Neural Integration surgery he went through, Roy. And there will be snakes who think they can strike when the lion sleeps. He's your priority. I trust you understand."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said immediately. "I understand."
Seliora gave a slow nod, her gaze distant. "I know you do. But his father may not be so understanding. You know how Darius is about 'not following orders'—especially since Kaelith's treatment started six years ago."
Her mouth curled ever so slightly, but it wasn't amusement—it was distaste—as her voice dropped a degree colder.
"If you hadn't been forced to handle those infiltrators in the west wing, you wouldn't have needed to leave. Darius wouldn't have a reason to chew your ears off for abandoning post."
Roy's lips pressed into a thin line. "Thank you, Ma'am."
"It's all right. No need to thank me. You've served us well. Go back to your post."
He hesitated. "Won't you be leaving, Ma'am? You've been here for an entire day. Sir will be worried."
She chuckled lightly. "It's all right. I'm not weak."
She exhaled, tilting her head against the cool wall behind her, and looked toward the double doors that led to Kaelith's room.
"I'll stay for a few more hours. I just wish he would wake up."
Roy glanced away, his jaw tightening before he replied, "You don't have to worry, Ma'am. The doctors have assured us—he will wake up. And he will walk again."
"I know…" she said, almost to herself. "It's just this fear—the kind that curls around your heart even when logic tells you not to listen to it." Her voice quieted, brittle now. "He is the only one I have left. If I lose him…" She trailed off.
Her face stayed blank, perfectly still. But the single tear that slipped down her cheek betrayed her.
Realizing she was crying, she laughed once—dry and low. "Ah, look at me. Crying when I should be happy. After all, the surgery was successful and Kaelith will be fine once he wakes up."
Roy stood quietly, not daring to interrupt her silence.
After a moment, she inhaled deeply and straightened again. "All right. Go back to your post. And don't forget to report to Darius about the attack. I haven't informed him yet. Knowing that you handled it, he'll be pacified."
Roy bowed his head again. "Thank you very much, Ma'am. I appreciate your help."
Seliora smiled at him—worn, yes, but sincere. "It was nothing. Go now. And don't forget to check on the girl when she wakes up."
"I will do as you say."
With that, Roy turned and walked down the corridor, his footsteps light.
Behind him, Seliora turned her head back towards the closed doors, then stood up and slowly walked toward them. After the surgery, Kaelith was placed in an ICU room, and the doctor estimated it would take one to two weeks before he woke up. However, Seliora desperately wished to see her son open his eyes.
She peered through the glass panel on the upper part of the door, and the first thing that caught her eye was her son's figure lying unconscious on the large bed. His eyes were closed, and the frown that usually marked his face was replaced with an expression of serenity. One distinctive aspect about him, even in a crowd, was his silvery grey hair—something she appreciated about him that the illness had brought.
The doctor had said that although the disease was cured, his hair could not revert to the black color it had been when he was a child and would remain this way. However, Seliora didn't mind; in fact, she was pleased. She also knew that Kaelith wouldn't care about his hair color; the only thing that truly mattered to him was being able to walk again.
She sighed and then smiled.
"Wake up early, son. Mother misses you."