At around 9:00 p.m. that evening, Sienna's phone buzzed beside her on the couch. She reached for it with a sluggish hand, eyes barely lifting from the quiet hum of the TV in front of her. A message from Anthony lit up the screen.
"Free tomorrow at 1 p.m. Let's meet at the usual place.
Relief washed over her. Finally - someone she could talk to. Someone who knew her. Anthony always had a way of making the mess in her head feel less overwhelming. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding and texted back a quick "I'll be there."
The weight on her chest didn't vanish, but it lightened. Just a little. She'd experienced all kinds of emotions during her career—grief, fatigue, loss—but this? This was something else entirely. It wasn't just stress. It wasn't just exhaustion. Something new had crept under her skin, unfamiliar and persistent. A constant thrum in her chest she couldn't name.
Her thoughts spiraled again, looping around Alexander - his pale, still face, the panic in her chest when his body convulsed. She could still feel the cold sweat that had gripped her back, the sharp punch of adrenaline. Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of it. This time, it was just a promotional message for scented candles.
She sighed. "Ridiculous," she muttered to herself, tossing the phone aside and pulling her blanket over her legs. She didn't realize how exhausted she was until her eyes began to close on their own. Sleep came quickly, but it was restless, punctuated by flashes of Alexander's motionless body and that twitch she wasn't sure she'd imagined.
Sienna didn't wake up until the late morning. She blinked groggily at the soft sunlight spilling through her blinds. 10:00 a.m. Weekend. Blessed sleep-in.
The only thing on her agenda that day was her lunch meeting with Anthony. Technically, she wasn't on duty - weekends were meant to be her time off - but the Millers operated by their own rules. Unspoken ones. Cold ones. Unless Mr. Miller himself stepped in, there was no point trying to push back.
She shuffled to the kitchen, poured herself a mug of coffee, and glanced around her apartment. It looked like a storm had blown through. Crumpled clothes, empty takeout boxes, books stacked on every surface. She cleaned as she sipped her coffee - wiping counters, folding laundry, opening a few windows to let fresh air cut through the staleness. For once, the act of tidying felt cathartic, grounding her in the present moment.
Just as she was finishing up, her phone rang again. Her mom's name popped up on the screen.
"Hi, Mom," she answered, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt. Her mother's warm voice poured through the line like honey. "Sweetheart! We haven't heard from you. Can you come home this weekend"? A soft ache pulsed in Sienna's chest. "I wish I could," she replied gently. "Work's been... demanding. I've been assigned to a new case, and it's not something I can step away from."
Her mother paused for a beat. "Is it serious?" "Yes," Sienna admitted. "And complicated." Her father's voice chimed in from the background, a muffled but enthusiastic "Tell her we miss her!" "I miss you both too," she said, her voice cracking a little. "Soon, okay?"
Her parents were understanding, as always. They didn't press. Just told her to stay strong and reminded her that they were proud of her. When the call ended, she sat for a moment, reminiscing about the brief moment of joy she felt hearing her parents voices.
By 12:45 p.m., Sienna was already seated at the quaint little restaurant she and Anthony used to frequent in college. The wood-paneled walls, the aroma of roasted garlic and herbs, the gentle jazz playing—it was exactly the same. Like time had stopped.
She stared at the condensation trailing down her water glass, her mind miles away. When Anthony finally walked in, she spotted him immediately - tall, calm, his presence familiar and grounding.
"Enna," he said, sliding into the booth across from her. "You look like hell." She let out a small laugh, eyes softening. "Thanks. That's just what I needed to hear." "I mean it affectionately." His smile faded slightly as he studied her. "What's going on?"
She hesitated, then leaned in. "It's about a patient. The Millers' son." Anthony's brow lifted. "The ones with more secrets than the Vatican?" She nodded. "He had a seizure. A bad one. And I thought… I thought I was going to lose him."
Anthony frowned but said nothing. He waited. "It wasn't just panic," she continued. "Something in me... I froze, Anthony. Just for a second. But it felt like everything inside me dropped. Afterward, I was nauseous. Actually nauseous. That's never happened to me before."
"Sounds like more than professional concern." "It is," she whispered. "I can't stop thinking about him. He's comatose, Anthony. I shouldn't feel anything. But I do."
Anthony leaned back, arms crossed. "It's not uncommon. You're human. You've probably been spending hours at his bedside, right? Monitoring him, touching his pulse, checking his vitals, watching every breath... it creates a bond." "But why this deep? Why does it feel like..." She trailed off. "Like I'm supposed to protect him."
They fell into a moment of silence, broken only by the soft clink of plates and quiet conversation around them. "Let's not ignore the obvious," Anthony said finally. "You're developing feelings. It doesn't make you weak, Enna. But you need to tread carefully."
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed harshly on the table. Unknown number. She frowned, answering cautiously. "Hello?" A voice came through. "This is Agartha. You asked me to call if anything unusual happened with the patient."
Sienna's breath caught. "What happened?" "There was a spike in his vitals. His heart rate accelerated suddenly. Then... his right hand moved." Sienna bolted upright, grabbing her bag. Anthony stood too, alarmed. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry. I have to go." He didn't ask questions. "Go. Just... keep your head clear."
The drive back to the Miller mansion was a blur. Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Her mind spun with Agartha's words. A spike. Movement. Could it mean something? Could he be waking up?
She barely registered the butler's startled greeting as she burst through the entrance and rushed up the stairs. When she reached Alexander's room, Agartha stood calmly beside the bed, a clipboard in hand.
"What happened?" Sienna asked, breathless. "Vitals spiked erratically. The heart rate monitor went crazy. Then... it calmed. But I saw his hand move. Twice. And just now..." Agartha hesitated. "His eyelids."
Sienna turned to the bed. The room felt eerily still; every tick of the clock suddenly amplified. Then she saw it - just the slightest twitch of his eyelid. "Again," she whispered. She stepped closer, fingers hovering over his arm. "Alexander?" No reply. But something in her gut stirred. A shift. A presence.
She brushed her fingertips across the back of his hand. Was that a twitch? Or was it her imagination? Agartha nodded quietly. "I felt it too."
Sienna sat beside him, emotions crashing like waves inside her. Relief. Fear. Hope. Dread. All tangled into one indescribable knot. "Alexander," she whispered again. "Can you hear me?"
No answer. Just the steady beep of the monitor. But the air in the room felt charged - like a storm was coming. Or maybe something long dormant was beginning to stir.
Her heart pounded. She looked at him differently now. Not just as a patient. But as something more. A mystery. A tether.
And she realized something chillingly honest: she wanted him to wake up. Not just for the Millers. Not just for the job.
For her.