Chapter 5
Gabriel's POV
The conference room had no windows. I'd been in my chair since six forty-five, the preliminary Mercer case summary open in front of me. Warren was mid-report when the phone vibrated on the table.
"—the deletion wasn't equipment failure," he was saying. "Whoever managed this kind of erasure knew exactly what they were doing. The method suggests—"
I glanced at the screen.
Patricia.
I answered.
"Mr. Blackwood." Her voice was urgent. "Audrey collapsed."
I was already standing.
Warren stopped mid-sentence. No one in the room spoke.
I closed the file and picked up my jacket.
"General Reeves connects in ten minutes," Warren said carefully.
"Postpone it."
I headed for the door.
Warren was still saying something as I left. I didn't take it in. The fluorescent lights in the hallway threw long shadows behind me. I was already calling Dominic.
"Bring the car around. Now."
By the time Dominic merged onto the highway, I'd already dialed Ethan.
Three rings, then he picked up. His voice had that particular lowered calm of someone in a treatment room. "I have a patient."
"I know."
"You clearly don't, because you're still calling."
I didn't circle around it. "I need you at my residence. Now. There's someone who needs to be seen."
Silence on the other end for a second.
"Gabe—"
"I know."
"Then you—"
"Ethan."
Another stretch of quiet.
Outside the window, the landscape was accelerating. Tree shadows along the forest road streaking past one after another. Dominic hadn't asked me how fast. He'd just pushed the speed up, holding the line that wouldn't trigger roadside cameras but was already well over the limit.
"Someone important?" Ethan asked.
I didn't answer.
The answer itself was the answer.
"All right." Something entered Ethan's tone — not reproach, but the kind of directness we'd built between us over years, the kind that didn't need preamble. "Give me her situation. Briefly."
"Collapsed. Low-grade fever. Possibly dehydrated." I relayed what Patricia had told me.
Ethan went quiet for a few seconds on the other end. I knew he was running through diagnostic protocols in his head — symptoms, triggers, risk level, what equipment to bring.
"Any external injuries?"
"No."
"Good." His voice became more concise, the concision of someone entering work mode. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't let her move. If she wants water, small sips only. Don't give too much at once."
"Understood."
"I'll have Dominic pick you up."
"No need. I'm driving myself."
He hung up.
I flipped the phone over, screen down, and set it on my leg.
I watched the window.
Ethan arrived a few minutes before I did.
I stood in the doorway of Audrey's room. I didn't go in.
She was lying on the bed, her face pale.
I watched him examine her. Temperature. Pulse. Blood sugar. He lifted her wrist, turned it over, studied the inner arm for slightly longer than necessary. Then he checked behind her knees, pausing longer than required.
Then he stood and looked at Patricia.
"What did she eat last night?"
"I brought dinner up," Patricia said. "It wasn't touched."
"Did she drink water?"
"Not sure. The glass is still full."
Ethan turned to me. "How long did she sleep?"
I was silent for a second.
"Not sure."
He looked at me without speaking. I recognized that look — not accusation, but the kind of pause that asked are you sure that's the answer you want to give?
Patricia added from the side: "When I came upstairs this morning, every light in the room was on. The bed showed no signs of having been slept in."
Ethan closed his medical bag, gave me a single nod, and walked out of the room.
I followed, pulling the door mostly closed behind us, leaving only a crack.
The hallway was quiet. Outside the window, the trees were still dripping. Post-rain light filtered in, illuminating the floor in pale gray-white.
"The fever isn't from infection," Ethan said, voice calm. "It's from her body being in a low-temperature environment for an extended period, combined with a full night without sleep, without food, without water — all of that together pushed her past her limit."
I didn't respond.
"What about her arms and knees?" I said.
"The stiffness and pressure marks suggest she stayed like that for a long time. Most of the night, possibly." He paused. "Was she alone in the room all night?"
"Yes."
"Has she had any stress responses before?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"A few days ago she witnessed her parents' deaths," I finally said, voice low.
Ethan didn't speak. He just looked at me quietly.
Then he spoke, tone still flat but every word clear:
"You gave her a room. And then you left."
"Patricia was downstairs."
"I know."
"She wasn't alone in the house."
"Gabriel." When he used my full name, it usually meant I wouldn't like what he was about to say. "Her parents just died. She's in an unfamiliar house surrounded by people she doesn't know. And the one person she does know walked out the door at nine PM."
He let that land.
I didn't respond.
"She probably spent the entire night," he continued, "convincing herself she didn't have the right to need anything."
The hallway stayed quiet for a long time.
I stood there. In my mind, last night's scene surfaced: her standing at the top of the stairs, hand coming up, then lowering, disappearing behind her back. I'd thought she was just seeing me out.
She was asking for help.
And I hadn't even turned around.
"Her being quiet now doesn't mean she's strong," Ethan said. "It might just mean she thinks if she's unobtrusive enough, you won't send her away."
That sentence hit like a fist to the ribs.
I said nothing.
"What does she need," I said, voice tighter than I expected.
"Right now? Fluids, fever management, sleep." Ethan said. "Going forward? Someone actually present. Not a housekeeper, not an intercom line. A person who's actually here."
He watched me, waiting for me to process it.
"I know you're not good at this," he said. "But Gabe — there's no other option this time. She's your responsibility, right?"
I looked at the window at the end of the hallway. Tree shadows swaying outside.
"Yes," I said.
Ethan patted my shoulder, picked up his bag, and left.
I went into the room.
I sat down in the chair by the window and watched her.
