~Narrator’s~

“Why do the worst ones always recover faster than the good ones?” Blair mutters. Her arms folded are whilst her eyes stay locked on the double doors of the private hospital wing.

The corridor is too clean. Too bright. Too quiet. Even the air feels pre-warned.

Reo stands beside her, suit jacket unbuttoned. Jennie shifts uneasily between them. She's holding her purse for composure, and her heart’s drumming like it's trying to warn her. Again.

Then the doors open.

Marcus Lane doesn’t walk out—he glides. His grey three-piece suit looks sharp enough to cut air. A nurse fusses beside him, adjusting the sleek wheelchair he refuses to use. His...