Chapter 11: Under Flickering Lights

Chapter 11: Under Flickering Lights
The hospital corridor stretched out like a cold tunnel. High ceilings, a row of pale fluorescent bulbs dripping light like water, spilling across blotched walls and making everything look washed out. My shadow trailed long and misshapen on the tile, rising and falling with each step like a stray marionette.

I stepped out. The air-conditioning brushed over my skin, a thin ribbon of ice down the back of my neck. The acrid tang of disinfectant clung to every breath, settling in my throat like chalk dust and making my stomach pinch. Somewhere a speaker crackled—an even female voice reading names before fading—leaving behind a hollow hush. My own pulse roared in my ears, each beat knocking at my temples, a reminder of how fragile the body is and of something waiting for me ahead.

Kristine stood at the far end, leaning against the wall as if holding herself up with the cold plaster. Her cream-colored coat fluttered with a draft from a half-open window. Fingers laced over her chest, nails pressing into her palms to stay steady. Her eyes fixed on me—anxious, the lids trembling as though she were on the verge of saying something she had rehearsed too many times.

But when I drew closer she smiled. A stretched smile, the corners of her mouth lifting but her gaze still dulled, like glass thrown up between us. I knew that tilt of her head, the way she measured my reaction before speaking.

“Elysa, you’re done already?” she asked, voice light, too careful.

I only nodded. Kristine caught my hand; her fingers were warm and firm, squeezing a little too tightly. “Uncle said the results will be ready in two or three hours. Let’s get something to eat. Don’t stay hungry.”

Another nod. Words lodged in my throat like pebbles. The light overhead glinted off her hair, turning it into fragile strands of silver thread.

We left the hospital. The glass doors slid open with a dry hiss. Outside, the afternoon was a pale gray; wind carried the scent of dry leaves and exhaust. We crossed a street littered with yellow leaves. Autumn gusts scraped at our ankles, blowing fine grit against our skin. Across the road a black car waited, silent, its windshield reflecting the streetlights. I glanced by instinct, but the interior was nothing but dark, an empty box of shadow.

The restaurant sat at a corner. Its broad windows were fogged, the glow inside a warm island. The smell of soup and bread drifted out, laced with the earthy aroma of fresh-ground coffee. Yet when I breathed in, my stomach clenched—hungry and nauseous at once.

We chose a hidden table behind a thin curtain. The wooden chairs were worn smooth; scratches arched across the tabletop like half-moons. Overhead, a single yellow bulb spilled a circle of light that tangled our shadows on the tile, trembling with every draft from the door.

After ordering, we sat in silence for a few seconds. The clink of cutlery at the next table mingled with faint music, a thin façade of calm. I set my hand on the glass of water before me; the chill climbed my fingers but I couldn’t bring it to my lips. The clock on the wall ticked forward, each soft sound like a pinprick against my skin.

Kristine drew a slow breath, eyes wandering to the window where the first drops of rain slid down, and pulled a thick folder from her bag. The edges were creased, as though clutched too tightly for too long; her fingers trembled as she laid it on the table. Paper smelled faintly of old dust and coffee, and my heart started hammering.

“This…” I began, but before I could finish she pushed the file toward me, her nail scraping the cover and leaving a pale mark, the trace of hesitation.

The first photograph slid free and fell onto the table. Kael. He stood beside a man I didn’t know, both leaning in, smiling crookedly, their eyes hiding something. The shot was angled, secretive, caught in dim light—my heartbeat stumbled.

My hand felt ice-cold as it brushed the edge of the photo. Memories of Kael rose—an afternoon at the airport, his gentle smile, his fingers intertwined with mine, the scent of his cologne—and then burst like bubbles when I saw this image.

Kristine didn’t look at me. She unlocked her phone. One tap. A recording began to play, a voice so familiar my skin crawled. Kael. Each word dropped like stones on tile: “—seize power… Dawson Corporation… marriage is just a stepping stone…”

“No… it can’t… him…” The thought splintered in my head, jagged and breathless. Each sound dragged me out of my seat and hurled me into cold water. The air around me thickened; words rang then shattered like glass.

I stared at Kristine, lips trembling. “Are you sure?”

She nodded once, her gaze dark, heavy as stones sinking.

I gripped the photo tighter until the edge left a red line on my skin. “And… Evelyn? You said Kael killed Evelyn… do you have proof?”

Kristine lifted her eyes. For an instant her look cut straight through me, weighted and still. She stayed silent a few seconds, then said quietly, “You’ve seen the proof before.”

I blinked, lost. “What do you mean? I…”

“The only thing that matters now,” she interrupted, voice hardening, “is that you disappear. Leave this city.”

My heart skipped. “What did you just say?”

“You have to get out of Kael’s sight to stay safe.” Her eyes were resolute, like someone who had weighed this for a long time.

“What about my family? What happens after?”

“That’s later. First, protect yourself.”

The air in the restaurant grew dense. The music still played, but far away. Outside, rain tapped harder on the windows, the yellow bulb flickering as though the world itself shivered with my pulse. The smell of soup still drifted from the kitchen but no longer reached me.

I wanted to ask more, to find a crack in her story, but my throat closed. Only then did I notice my hands were shaking—as though everything I’d trusted was slipping through my fingers.

Kristine’s phone vibrated, the sound sharp in the hush. She glanced at the screen, hesitated, then answered.

I caught only the voice on the other end—Smith, the doctor who had examined me, Kristine’s uncle. Urgency cut through his tone: “We have the test results. You both need to come back to the hospital now.”

My heart thudded. My hand searched for Kristine’s across the table. Somewhere in my chest a small spark of hope still flickered, thin as a candle before the wind, while outside the rain grew heavier, drumming against the glass, each beat blending with the clock’s ticking like a warning that something was about to arrive.