A spark of hope

by FFA Member

When a mysterious 13-year-old girl is found unconscious by a river with no memory of her past, Dr. Connor Rhodes makes an unexpected choice: adoption. Together, they'll navigate the chaos of her forgotten identity, from school fights to wild woodland adventures that test their newfound bond. This is a cross over of my book Bonds of the Hunted (can be found on Amazon).

10. Chapter 10

I'm really really sorry for everyone's notifications blowing up. Chapters 11 and 12 are refusing to show up. I posted them several days ago, and it keeps saying it takes 15 minutes to show up. I deleted them yesterday and tried again, same thing. Again I'm really sorry for everyone notifications while I try to fix this...I'm trying to combine chapters 11 and 12 into this chapter 10. Again, I'm really sorry everyone..

---

I pressed my forehead against the cold car window

The police scanner Connor had grabbed crackled with updates. Each burst of static made my heart jump, hoping for news about Owen. Instead, it was just routine calls – a domestic disturbance, a fender bender, a shoplifter at Target. Nothing about a missing baby.

"They'll find him," Connor said, but his voice had lost its usual confidence. He kept checking his phone at red lights, his face illuminated by the harsh blue glow. Each time, he'd shake his head slightly and grip the steering wheel tighter.

A call came through his bluetooth – Dr. Charles's calm voice filled the car. "We've got the FBI coming in. They're treating this as a possible trafficking case." He paused, and I could hear papers rustling. "The woman in the footage... she knew exactly where to go, Connor. This wasn't random."

I felt the bile rise in my throat. Trafficking. The word echoed in my head like a death sentence. My stupid decision to leave Owen alone hadn't just put him in danger – it had handed him to someone who'd been waiting for exactly that kind of opportunity.

"What about the security badges?" Connor asked, his voice tight. "Any matches?"

"None," Dr. Charles replied. "She used a cloned badge. Professional job. Like I said, not random."

Connor ended the call and pulled over suddenly, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the soft patter of rain starting to fall, each drop another second ticking by without Owen.

"This is all my fault," I whispered, the words catching in my throat.

Connor didn't answer.

The rest of the drive passed in suffocating silence. Rain pelted the windshield harder now, distorting the city lights into watery smears. Every few minutes, Connor's phone would light up with another update – each one making his jaw clench tighter, each one clearly not the news we were desperate to hear.

We pulled into the underground parking of our apartment building, the concrete walls amplifying the sound of squealing brakes as Connor parked crookedly across two spaces. He didn't even seem to notice.

"Go straight to your room," he said, his voice hollow as we rode the elevator to our floor. "I need to make some calls."

The apartment door clicked shut behind us with a finality that made me flinch. Through the wall, I could hear Mrs. Peterson's TV blaring the news. Any minute now, Owen's story would probably be on there – another missing baby in Chicago, another parent's nightmare. Another tragedy I'd caused.

I paused in the hallway, watching Connor slump onto the couch, his phone already pressed to his ear. "Will," he said, his voice cracking. "Any updates?" The pause that followed told me everything I needed to know.

My bedroom felt foreign somehow, like I was looking at it through someone else's eyes. The Harry Potter posters on the walls, the fairy lights strung across my headboard– it all seemed impossibly childish now.

Through my window, I could see the hospital's lights in the distance, glowing like a beacon through the rain. Somewhere in that building, Natalie was living every parent's worst nightmare. And somewhere in this city, a woman in stolen scrubs was carrying Owen further and further away with each passing second.

I curled up on my bed, still in my wet clothes, and tried not to think about how the last thing I'd said to Owen was "I'll be right back."

I shot up out of bed, my heart pounding as an idea crystallized in my mind. I quickly changed into black leggings and a dark hoodie, topped with my waterproof North Face jacket. I eased my window open, wincing at every squeak of the frame. The rain had settled into a fine mist, coating the metal fire escape with a treacherous sheen.

The first step onto the fire escape sent a shiver of rust flakes dancing to the ground. I forced myself to breathe, to focus on each movement as I descended. The wet metal bit into my palms, leaving traces of rust and grime that looked almost like dried blood in the dim light.

At the second floor, I heard Connor's voice drift from his open window: "Still no updates on the baby." His words steeled my resolve. I couldn't just sit in my room while Owen was out there somewhere.

I dropped the last few feet to the ground, landing in a puddle that soaked through my sneakers. The alley behind our building stretched out like a dark throat, graffiti-covered walls leading toward the hospital's distant glow. I ducked under a broken chain-link fence, its jagged edges catching my jacket for a moment before letting go with a metallic sigh.

Every shadow could be a threat, every distant siren a warning, but I kept moving.

The streets twisted before me like a maze of broken dreams. I started with the obvious route toward the hospital, but each block looked eerily similar in the misty darkness – brick buildings bleeding into one another, streetlights creating halos in the damp air. My phone's GPS kept recalculating, the blue dot jumping erratically across the screen as signals bounced off the tall buildings.

I passed a homeless man huddled in a doorway, his eyes following me with quiet curiosity. "Looking for something, girl?" he called out, but I hurried past, my squeaking sneakers betraying my presence. The hospital's glow seemed to mock me, appearing closer then farther with each turn I took.

After twenty minutes of walking – or was it forty? – I realized I'd somehow circled back to the same graffitied wall I'd seen before, the neon monster's face leering at me through the mist. My hands trembled as I pulled up my phone again, the battery now dangerously low at 15%. The screen flickered, and for a moment, I thought I saw a notification about Owen, but it was just another false hope.

The rain picked up, no longer a gentle mist but a steady drizzle that plastered my hair to my face. I ducked under an awning, trying to get my bearings. The hospital's glow had disappeared completely now, swallowed by the maze of buildings and my own disorientation. Every choice felt wrong – left would take me deeper into unknown territory, right led back to where I'd already searched, and straight ahead disappeared into darkness.

A distant baby's cry made me whirl around, but it was just a cat, its eyes reflecting the streetlight as it darted between parked cars. My chest tightened with frustration and fear. Owen was out there somewhere in this vast, wet darkness, and I was just running in circles, as lost as he was.

That's when I heard it – footsteps, too measured to be casual, too persistent to be coincidence. I quickened my pace, and they quickened with me. The sound of dress shoes on wet pavement, click-click-clicking through the rain.

I didn't dare look back, but I could feel him there. His presence raised the hair on my neck, a shadow stretching longer than it should across the sidewalk beside me. When I paused at a corner, he paused too, maintaining what felt like a carefully calculated distance.

My phone was dead now, the screen as black as the spaces between streetlights. I clutched it anyway, pretending to talk into it. "Yes, I'm almost there," I said to no one, my voice shaking. "I can see you waiting for me up ahead."

The footsteps didn't falter.

I took a sharp right turn into an alley – stupid, stupid move – but panic was driving me now. The click-click-clicking grew closer, more deliberate. A man's voice floated through the rain, soft as silk and twice as dangerous. "Are you lost? I can help you." He purred.

My heart stopped, then hammered against my ribs. I risked a glance over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of him in the glow of a security light – tall, wearing a dark suit that seemed untouched by the rain, his face obscured by shadows except for the gleam of his teeth.

"N-not lost," I managed, hating how my voice cracked. The words felt like glass in my throat.

"No need to worry," the stranger purred, taking a deliberate step forward. "I only want to help you." The way he said 'help' made the word sound like a threat.

Pure instinct took over. I spun around and ran, my sneakers slapping against puddles, sending up sprays of dirty water. The rain stung my eyes as I careened blindly through the darkness, taking random turns, desperate to lose him. I ducked into another alleyway and slammed straight into what felt like a brick wall – except this wall wore leather and moved.

The impact knocked me back, and I found myself staring up at a mountain of a man in a motorcycle vest covered in patches. Behind him, through my rain-blurred vision, I made out more bikers – seven of them, their leather vests glistening wet in the dim light. They had a man cornered against the wall, the gleam of a knife at his throat.

"You okay there, little sister?" the big biker asked, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his intimidating appearance. His beard was streaked with gray, his eyes sharp and alert beneath heavy brows.

I glanced behind me just as my stalker appeared at the alley's entrance. The sight of the bikers hit him like a physical blow – his pristine composure cracked, face draining of color until it matched the sickly pallor of the security lights. Without a word, he melted back into the darkness he'd emerged from.

"That piece of garbage bothering you?" The biker's voice had turned to steel, his massive hands clenching into fists.

I couldn't answer right away, my lungs burning as I tried to catch my breath. My legs felt like rubber, the adrenaline making me shake. Rain dripped from my hair, down my face like tears.

"Don't you worry about a thing, sweetheart," another biker said, stepping forward. A patch on his vest read 'Vice President.' "We got eyes all over these streets. That creep won't be hurting anybody else – not on our watch."

"Gary," the leader's voice cut through the rain like a blade, low and commanding. "Take her inside and get her warmed up. A cup of hot cocoa might work wonders."

Gary stepped forward. "Come on, kiddo. You're safe with us. We're bad men, but we aren't them." His voice was gruff, yet there was a warmth in it that made me believe him.

As we moved toward the door, my gaze drifted to the man pinned against the brick wall, the knife at his throat.

"He's one of the worst," Gary said, his eyes narrowing with disgust. "Killed his wife and his baby. Pure evil."

The man suddenly lunged toward me, a desperate, futile attempt to escape his fate. Instantly, two gang members moved in, restraining him.

"Don't watch," Gary murmured, stepping in front of me to block the view, his large hand gently steering me inside. The warmth of the room enveloped us as he led me to a scarred wooden table. "So," he said, settling me into a chair, "what brings you out here?"

Feeling the safety of the walls around me, I let the story spill out – the argument with Dr. Halstead, the mistake of leaving Owen alone, my frantic search. Each detail felt like a stone lifted from my shoulders.

Gary listened intently, his brow furrowed, pouring steaming water into a chipped mug. "None of that's your fault," he said firmly, his voice steady and reassuring. "An adult shouldn't have pushed off the responsibility of watching a baby on a kid." He tore open a packet of hot cocoa mix, stirring it into the water, the sweet aroma mingling with the scent of rain and leather.

The leader walked into the room, his boots leaving wet prints on the wooden floor. The rest of the gang filed in behind him like shadows, their leather vests creaking as they settled into chairs around me. Despite their intimidating appearance, there was something oddly comforting about their presence.

"So kid," the leader said, pulling up a chair and straddling it backwards, his arms crossed over the backrest, "what's your story?"

I reexplained everything, my voice shaking less now. The warmth of the cocoa had started to thaw the ice in my veins, and somehow, telling my story to these rough-looking men felt safer than talking to any of the adults in my life lately.

"Hmmm." The leader's eyes, sharp and intelligent beneath his graying eyebrows, flickered to an older man with a face like weathered leather and a salt-and-pepper beard. "Vinnie, what do you think? Think we should help?"

Vinnie's face crinkled into a smile that made his eyes disappear into a maze of wrinkles. "Sure do, Boss. A missing baby and a young kid here in distress?" He cracked his knuckles. "Sounds like our kind of operation. Been too quiet 'round here anyway."

The leader nodded, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I was thinking the same thing." He turned his full attention back to me, his expression softening. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"I'm Lexa," I replied, wrapping my cold fingers tighter around the warm mug.

"Well, Lexa," he said, reaching into his vest pocket, "welcome to the Night Ravens." He pulled out a sleek phone. "Does your old man know you're out here?"

I shook my head, droplets of water falling from my hair. "No. I snuck out."

The leader held out the phone, his calloused hand steady and patient. "Call him and let him know you're safe."

I shrugged, staring into my cocoa like it held answers. "I doubt he even knows I'm missing."

The leader's face softened further, something ancient and knowing in his eyes. "Trust me, kid," he said softly, his voice rough with what might have been memory, "a father knows. They always know."

I took the phone, then punched in Connor's number. It rang twice before he picked up, each ring echoing in my chest like a warning bell. "Hey dad."

"Lexa?" Connor's voice cracked with emotion. "Oh my God, are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe? What happened?" The rapid-fire questions and raw panic in his tone made my stomach twist into knots.

"I'm fine, I..." My voice caught in my throat as I glanced at the bikers around me. How could I explain this? "I wanted to find Owen. I got lost then these group of people helped me." My voice dropped to barely above a whisper, shame creeping up my neck like a hot tide.

"You're safe though?" Connor's question came out sharp, urgent. I could picture him pacing, running his fingers through his hair like he always did when he was worried.

"Yes sir." I swallowed hard, the words feeling thick in my throat. The leader of the Night Ravens gave me an encouraging nod.

"You're in big trouble young lady," Connor's voice shifted from worry to anger so fast it made me flinch. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? Didn't we just have this conversation yesterday about how you shouldn't go wandering off alone without letting me know? Answer me!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear as his voice rose to a shout, my eyes burning with unshed tears. The bikers exchanged knowing looks, but kept respectfully quiet. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice small and broken. "I didn't think you'd notice."

"You bet your ass I noticed. Get home right now!" The phone call ended with a sharp click that felt like a slap.

I handed the phone back to the leader, my face burning with humiliation. My fingers were shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. A single tear escaped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away with my sleeve, but not before the bikers had seen it.

The leader's massive arm settled around my shoulders, gentle as a father comforting a child. "Listen, kiddo," he said, his voice rough but kind. "I see what you were trying to do. Wanting to help Owen – that's brave. But your dad?" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "When a parent can't find their child, it's like the whole world stops spinning. Every second feels like drowning."

I stared at my hands, the tears falling faster now. The leader squeezed my shoulder, his leather vest creaking softly.

"You're what, thirteen?" When I nodded, he continued. "At your age, we think we're invincible. Think our parents are just being dramatic. But out there?" He gestured toward the rain-streaked windows. "There's things that'd turn your blood cold. Your dad wasn't just worried – he was terrified."

"Reminds me of my wild days," Gary chimed in, leaning forward in his chair. His eyes went distant, lost in memory. "I snuck out to impress this girl – Maria Thompson." A sad smile crossed his weathered face. "Climbed right out my window, thought I was such a rebel. Dad caught me sneaking back in at dawn." He rubbed his jaw, wincing at the memory. "Gave me the worst whooping of my life, couldn't sit down comfortable for a week. I was so angry, thought he was being unreasonable." Gary's voice dropped lower, heavy with remembered grief. "Found out later that same night, four kids from my school got gunned down at the 7-Eleven where I'd been planning to take Maria. Could've been me, could've been..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

The room fell silent except for the soft patter of rain against the windows. Even the other bikers seemed lost in their own memories of youth and consequences.

"I'll take you home," the leader said, pushing himself up from his chair. The wood creaked beneath his weight as he stood, keys jingling in his massive hand.

"I think my dad would kill me if he saw me with a motorcycle gang," I mumbled, picturing Connor's face turning that dangerous shade of purple it got when he was truly angry.

The leader's laugh was unexpected – deep and genuine, rumbling through the room like distant thunder. "Just because we're the Night Ravens doesn't mean we don't have regular cars, kid." He gestured toward a door. "Come on."

I followed him into a garage that smelled of motor oil and cigarettes. A sleek black Chrysler 300 sat waiting, its dark paint reflecting the overhead lights like liquid obsidian. The windows were tinted so dark they looked like pools of ink.

"Front seat's yours," he said, opening the passenger door with an unexpected flourish of courtesy. "Address?"

After I told him where I lived, I slid into the leather seat, noticing how clean and well-maintained everything was. The engine purred to life, a sound as smooth as butter.

"About Owen," the leader said as we pulled out into the rain-slicked street, his voice gentle but firm. "We've got eyes and ears everywhere in this city. That baby will be found and returned – you have my word on that." He paused, then added quietly, "And a Night Raven's word is his bond."

The streetlights swept across his face as we drove, highlighting the scars and wrinkles that told stories I'd probably never hear. My relief at his promise was short-lived though, evaporating like morning dew as we turned onto my street. The apartment complex loomed ahead, every lit window seeming to judge me.

"Listen carefully," he said, pulling to a stop. His voice had taken on an edge of steel wrapped in velvet. "Whatever punishment your father gives you – and trust me, there will be one – it's nothing compared to what could've happened out there." His eyes locked onto mine, intense and unwavering. "These streets? They eat children alive. That corner where we found you? We call it Hell's Corner for a reason. There are people out there who'd do things that'd make your worst nightmares seem tame."

His expression turned deadly serious. "If I ever catch you wandering these streets alone again, especially anywhere near Hell's Corner, I'll tan your hide myself. And trust me, kid – you'd rather face your father's punishment than mine." Despite the threat, there was genuine concern in his voice, the kind that made me believe every word.

I made my way up into the elevator, it dinged at our floor. With a deep breath, I stepped out, walking over to the door to our apartment. Behind me, the Night Ravens' leader waited– a silent guardian until I made it inside. My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob, but before I could touch it, the door flew open.

Connor stood there, backlit by the hallway light, frame filling the doorway. His face was a storm of emotions – relief, anger, fear, all wrestling for control. For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then he grabbed me, pulling me into a fierce hug that knocked the breath from my lungs. His heart hammered against my ear, his arms trembling as they held me. "Don't you ever," he whispered hoarsely into my hair, "ever do that to me again."

Connor drew me inside, closing the door. In the harsh kitchen light, I could see his eyes were red-rimmed, his hair a mess from running his hands through it. Empty coffee cups littered the counter.

"I called everyone," he said, his voice raw. "The police, the hospitals I thought..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "I thought someone had taken you, like they took Owen."

The mention of Owen's name hung in the air between us, heavy with shared guilt. Connor sank into a kitchen chair, suddenly looking older than his thirty-five years. "You're grounded until you're thirty," he said, but his voice lacked its usual authority. "And your phone privileges are revoked. And..." He trailed off, running both hands through his already disheveled hair. "God, Lexa, what were you thinking?"

I stood there, dripping rainwater onto the floor, unable to meet his eyes. The weight of everything – the night's terror, the stranger who'd followed me, the bikers' kindness, and now Connor's obvious pain – came crashing down.

"I just wanted to help," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Connor's eyes softened, though his expression remained firm. "By sneaking out, you put yourself in danger," he said, his voice steady but laced with the fear he must have felt. He took a deep breath, and his face seemed to age as he exhaled. "Come here." His grip was firm yet gentle as he guided me over his lap, landing several swift swats that made me yelp with a mixture of surprise and pain.

Afterward, he sat me back up, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten. "If you ever sneak out again, you will regret it," he warned, but his eyes were already softening. He pulled me into a fierce hug, holding me so tightly I felt like I might disappear into him. "I love you," he murmured into my hair, his voice thick with emotion.

I buried my face into his chest, my tears soaking into his shirt as I let out a shuddering sob. "I just…it's my fault he was taken. I should have been watching him."

"No, sweetheart, it's not your fault." His hand moved in soothing circles on my back, a comforting rhythm that eased the tension in my muscles. "None of this is your fault," he repeated.

We stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten as we found solace in each other's presence.

"Now then," Connor's hand squeezed my shoulder, gentle but firm – a father's touch that held both love and warning. "You're grounded to your room for the rest of the day. And Lexa?" His voice softened. "No more sneaking out. I can't..." He swallowed hard. "I can't lose you too."

"Yes sir," I mumbled, the words thick in my throat. I trudged to my room, the door clicked shut behind me with a finality that made my chest ache. I collapsed onto my bed, still damp from the rain, and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Connor and I had stuck to the ceiling. My mind kept replaying the day's disasters like some horrible movie I couldn't turn off.

It was supposed to be perfect. Connor had promised he'd take the day off – our first real father-daughter day. I'd planned everything: breakfast at a little diner, the new Marvel movie he'd been dying to see, ice cream at Murphy's where they make it right in front of you. But the day had shattered before it even began, crumbling like a sandcastle in the tide.

The emergency department had blown up with traumas, the fight with Dr. Halstead, and then... Owen. Sweet baby Owen, with his toothless smile and grabby little hands, just... gone. My chest tightened at the memory.

With a surge of anger, I grabbed my pillow and hurled it at the wall. It hit with a soft thump that did nothing to satisfy the storm of emotions inside me. "Why?" I whispered into the empty room, my voice cracking. "Why did everything have to go so wrong?"

"They found him!" Connor burst through my door so fast it bounced against the wall. His phone was clutched in his hand, his face flushed with excitement. "A biker gang found him and brought him to the police station!"

My heart stopped, then started racing. The Night Ravens. They'd kept their word. I launched myself off the bed and into Connor's arms with such force he stumbled backward. "Is he really okay?" My voice cracked with emotion. "Really truly okay?"

"He's perfectly fine," Connor's voice was thick with relief as he squeezed me tight. "They're taking him to the hospital now for a check-up. Natalie..." He paused, his arms tightening around me. "She wants us to meet her there."

I stiffened and pulled back, my stomach churning. "She hates me," I whispered, remembering the look of pure fury in her eyes when Owen first disappeared. "She'll never forgive me."

Connor's hands settled on my shoulders, firm and steady. "Listen to me," he said, ducking his head to meet my eyes. "Natalie doesn't hate you. She was terrified – we all were. But hate? No." His thumb wiped away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "Get changed, sweetheart. Five minutes."

After he left, I peeled off my rain-soaked clothes, pulling on my warmest sweater and a pair of jeans. My fingers fumbled with the laces of my dry sneakers as my mind raced with thoughts of facing Natalie.

Connor was waiting in the kitchen, car keys jingling in his hand. "Ready?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. We walked to the car side by side, our footsteps in perfect sync. The drive to the hospital was silent but charged with emotion, like the air before a thunderstorm. I stared out the window, watching raindrops race down the glass, each one carrying a silent prayer that Natalie would understand.

The hospital loomed ahead, its windows blazing with light against the dark sky. My heart hammered against my ribs as we pulled into the parking lot. Connor's hand found mine as we walked through the sliding doors, offering silent support for whatever waited ahead.

The sterile scent of antiseptic hit us the moment we walked through the doors, a sharp reminder of the seriousness of the situation. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the white-tiled floors. I felt exposed under their brightness, every anxious thought magnified.

We navigated the labyrinth of corridors, Connor's grip on my hand a lifeline as we wove through the bustle of doctors and nurses. My heart raced with each step, the anticipation building with every turn. Finally, we reached the pediatric ward, and there she was – Natalie, standing in the hallway, her arms wrapped around herself like armor.

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, we both froze. To my surprise, Natalie's face crumpled, and she rushed forward, enveloping me in a hug so fierce it stole my breath. "I was so scared," she whispered, her voice breaking. "When Connor said you were gone, I thought... I thought I'd lost you both." Her grip tightened, and I felt the tremor in her arms, a mirror of my own.

"I'm sorry, Natalie," I choked out, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I should have been watching him. I should have—"

"No," she interrupted, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed but filled with a warmth I hadn't expected. "It's not your fault, Lexa. It never was." She brushed a stray tear from my face, her touch gentle and forgiving. "We're just glad you're safe."

Connor stood by, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he watched us. The weight I'd been carrying – the guilt, the fear, the shame – began to lift, replaced by the warmth of Natalie's forgiveness.

"Where's Owen?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, afraid to break the fragile peace.

Natalie smiled, a genuine, relieved smile. "He's just in there," she nodded toward the room behind her. "Sleeping like a little angel. You can go see him."

I hesitated, glancing at Connor, who nodded encouragingly. With a deep breath, I stepped toward the door.

Owen lay in a tiny hospital crib, his face peaceful in sleep, the rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm. I approached quietly, my fingers brushing his soft cheek, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

We were together. We were safe. And for now, that was enough.

---

This is chapter 11. The chapter that refuses to show up, hoping this works

The next few weeks flew by in a routine. Each morning, I'd wake up early, the sunlight just beginning to creep through the curtains, and head to work with Connor. The hospital had become a second home. I found solace in the small tasks – wiping down counters until they gleamed, folding endless piles of laundry with the scent of fresh linen clinging to my fingers, and running drinks to the nurses' station, exchanging smiles with the staff who'd become like family. Each day was a small step toward normalcy. But the day I dreaded most loomed closer with each passing moment: my first day at school. It arrived faster than I wanted, bringing with it a knot of anxiety that settled in my stomach.

I stood in front of my mirror, studying my reflection, the familiar Levi jeans and blue button-up shirt felt foreign against my skin. My eyes drifted to the backpack slumped in the corner, bulging with schoolbooks that seemed to mock my unease. With a deep breath, I slung it over my shoulder, the weight a reminder of the world waiting outside. In the kitchen, the aroma of breakfast greeted me. Connor had set aside a plate, eggs, toast, and orange slices neatly arranged. I ate quickly, the food a welcome distraction from the nerves bubbling beneath the surface.

"Are you ready?" Connor asked, rushing into the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower.

"Not really," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Can't I just skip school and go to work with you?"

Connor chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry, kiddo. But you need to get your education." He glanced at his watch. "We need to hurry. We're running late."

I nodded, setting my plate in the sink. As we headed out the door, I cast one last look at the cozy kitchen. The morning air bit through my jacket as we climbed into Connor's car, the leather seats cold against my legs. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

At the first red light, Connor cleared his throat. "You know," he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, "I remember my first day back after missing two weeks of school. Broke my arm playing football." He chuckled softly. "I was terrified."

I glanced over, surprised. Connor rarely talked about his childhood. "What happened?"

"Well," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "I walked in there feeling like everyone would stare. But you know what? Most kids were too wrapped up in their own drama to even notice." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "The ones who did just wanted to sign my cast."

The car fell silent again as we turned down a street, the school buildings looming ahead. My stomach churned at the sight of students filing through the front doors.

Connor pulled into the drop-off lane and put the car in park. "Lexa," he said, turning to face me fully. "You're one of the strongest people I know." His hand reached out, squeezing mine. "And if anyone gives you trouble..."

"Call you immediately," I finished, managing a weak smile.

"That's my girl." He hesitated, then added, "I can walk you in if you want."

I shook my head, squaring my shoulders. "No, I... I need to do this myself."

Pride flickered across his face. "Okay then." His voice softened. "Remember what we always say?"

"Head high, shoulders back, face whatever comes," I whispered, gathering my courage.

As I stepped out of the car, Connor called after me. "Hey, kiddo?" I turned back. "I love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

I walked past clusters of kids, each group buzzing with morning energy. A few gave me curious looks. I kept my gaze forward, heading straight for the office. I smiled at the secretary. "Hi. Uh... I'm Lexa Rhodes, and it's my first day."

"Ah yes," she adjusted her glasses then handed me a neatly folded piece of paper. "Welcome to our great school," she said with a smile. "This is your class schedule and a map of the school. For your first week here, you'll be paired with a buddy – Janet. She should be here any moment... Ah, here she is!"

At that, a whirlwind of energy burst into the office. Janet arrived breathlessly, her cheeks flushed from the morning rush. "Sorry! Traffic was a nightmare," she panted, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Then she turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. "Hi, I'm Janet."

"I'm Lexa," I replied, trying to muster confidence but feeling the shyness creep in.

The secretary continued, "Janet has all of your classes, so she'll show you around. Today, though, I suggest you two skip classes and get a tour of the grounds."

Janet grinned at me, the kind of grin that was impossible not to return. "Don't worry, Lexa. I'll show you all the secret spots and shortcuts. By the end of the day, you'll know this place like the back of your hand."

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for the first time that morning, I felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"First stop," Janet announced, leading me down a sunlit corridor, "the cafeteria. Avoid the mystery meat on Thursdays, but the pizza's actually decent." She pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a sprawling room filled with round tables. "And see that corner?" She pointed to a cozy nook by a wall of windows. "That's where the cool kids sit."

"Let me guess – that's your spot?" I teased.

Janet burst out laughing. "God, no. I sit with the theater nerds by the stage door." She gestured to a cluster of tables near a side exit. "We're loud, weird, and probably too obsessed with Broadway, but we have the best snacks." As we continued our tour, Janet's stories flowed freely. She told me about the chemistry teacher who accidentally set his tie on fire last semester, the haunted bathroom on the third floor (which was really just had flickering lights), and the janitor who secretly wrote poetry during his lunch break. "And this," she said, pushing open a heavy door, "is my favorite spot in the whole school."

We stepped onto a small rooftop garden, complete with wooden benches and potted plants. "The environmental club maintains it," Janet explained, settling onto a bench. "Not many students know about it. It's kind of our secret hideaway for when things get overwhelming."

I sat beside her, taking in the view of the city sprawled out before us. From up here, I could even see the hospital where Connor worked, its windows glinting in the sunlight.

"So," Janet said softly, "want to talk about it?"

I turned to her, confused. "About what?"

"Whatever made you transfer schools in the middle of the semester." Her voice was gentle, free of judgment. "People usually only do that if something big happened."

I stared down at my hands, my throat suddenly tight. "It's... complicated."

"Hey," she nudged my shoulder with hers, "complicated is my middle name. Well, actually it's Lana, but you get the point."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I was found a few months ago, washed up by the river." My fingers twisted in my lap as I spoke. "I was in a coma at Chicago Med. When I woke up..." I swallowed hard. "Everything before that was just... gone. Like someone had taken an eraser to my memories."

Janet stared at me, her green eyes wide with surprise. "I was not expecting that." She didn't pull away or gasp dramatically like I'd feared. Instead, she shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against mine in quiet support.

"One of the doctors there, Dr. Rhodes – Connor – he..." My voice caught. "He adopted me. Gave me a home, a life." I glanced at her, waiting for the pity I'd grown used to seeing in people's eyes.

But Janet's face showed something else entirely – a mix of wonder and fierce protectiveness. "That's..." she started, then stopped, choosing her words carefully. "That's not just some story, Lexa. That's like, movie-level incredible." She bumped my shoulder gently. "You survived. You're here. And you found someone who chose you."

The simple truth of her words made my eyes burn. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears.

"Although," she added, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, "this does mean I'll have to be extra careful showing you around. Can't have you getting lost in any more rivers."

A startled laugh escaped me, the tension breaking like a fever. Below us, the warning bell rang, its distant chime carrying across the rooftop garden.

"Come on," Janet said, standing and offering me her hand. "Lets continue the tour. And Lexa?" She waited until I met her eyes. "Your secret's safe with me. That's what friends are for, right?" Janet led me through the maze of hallways, pointing out classrooms and sharing stories about each teacher we passed. "Mr. Peterson teaches Biology," she whispered as we peeked through a classroom window. "He has this weird obsession with pandas. Mention them in your papers, instant A." We rounded a corner, and Janet suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me back. "Wait," she hissed, pressing us against the wall. "Principal Stevens at twelve o'clock."

A tall woman in a crisp blazer strode past our hiding spot, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She hadn't noticed us.

"Shouldn't we be in class?" I whispered.

Janet grinned. "Relax. I have a note from the office – we're officially on tour duty." She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. We continued our exploration, Janet showing me shortcuts between buildings and the best vending machines. "This one," she said, patting an ancient-looking machine, "gives you two snacks for the price of one if you hit it just right."

As we walked, I found myself relaxing, even laughing at Janet's stories. She had a way of making everything seem lighter, easier.

"Oh!" Janet exclaimed, stopping suddenly. "I almost forgot the best part." She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a set of double doors. "The drama room – my second home." The room we entered was organized chaos. Costumes spilled out of boxes, props littered every surface, and a massive stage dominated the far wall. "We're doing 'The Crucible' this semester," Janet said, her eyes lighting up. "You should totally join. We need more people for the ensemble."

"Oh, I don't know..." I started, but Janet was already dragging me toward the stage.

"Just think about it," she said, hopping onto the stage. "It might be good, you know? To be someone else for a while. To try on different stories."

I looked around the room, at the scattered scripts and half-painted sets. Maybe she was right. Maybe this was exactly what I needed. We spent the next hour trying on outfits, each more ridiculous than the last. I ended up wearing a tall, bright yellow hat with a giant feather sticking out of it, paired with a black and white striped shirt and oversized clown shoes. Janet doubled over with laughter, clutching her sides as if she might burst.

Just then, the door swung open, and Principal Stevens walked in, her eyes widening at the scene. "What is going on in here?"

Janet straightened up quickly, attempting to stifle her giggles. "This is Lexa," she explained, gesturing towards me. "She just started here, and I was assigned to show her around. I have a note." She handed over the crumpled piece of paper, trying to look serious.

Principal Stevens took the note, glancing over it briefly before crumpling it in her fist. "Both of you, follow me," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I'm calling both of your parents."

"For what?" Janet protested, her feet refusing to budge from the spot.

"For ditching class and destruction of property," Principal Stevens replied curtly, turning on her heel to leave the room.

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat as Janet and I fell into step behind her. "My father is going to kill me," I whispered to Janet.

Janet leaned in, her voice low and comforting. "Don't worry. I'll explain everything. It's not the end of the world, okay? We've just got to ride this out."

As we walked through the corridors, the colorful ensemble I wore felt heavier with each step, the clown shoes flopping awkwardly with every movement. The laughter and camaraderie from moments before had evaporated, replaced by a heavy silence filled with dread and uncertainty.

"Sit!" Principal Stevens ordered as we entered her office, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

I slumped into the chair, crossing my arms defiantly over my chest, trying to mask the nervous energy bubbling inside me. Janet settled in the chair beside me, her posture more relaxed.

"We did nothing wrong," Janet asserted.

Principal Stevens ignored her, reaching for the phone and punching in numbers. The phone rang a few times before she spoke, "Is this Mr. Rhodes? Yes, this is Principal Stevens from the high school. I'm calling to inform you that your daughter Lexa has been suspended for the day... Yes... She was found skipping class and reportedly causing damage to drama club property."

Before I could think, I sprang to my feet. "That's not true!" I exclaimed, my voice shaking with anger. Janet grabbed my arm, trying to calm me, but I shook her off, my emotions spiraling. "You're a lying fucking bitch."

Principal Stevens' face flushed with indignation, her grip on the phone tightening. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rhodes, but we cannot tolerate such behavior in our school. Please come to pick her up immediately. She's no longer allowed to attend here."

My fists clinched at my sides, anger boiled inside of me.

Principal Stevens hung up the phone with a sharp click. "Wait for your father outside," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "And remove those drama club items immediately. We wouldn't want to add theft to your list of infractions."

I snapped, yanking d off the ridiculous costume pieces, flinging them onto her desk with enough force to scatter her carefully arranged papers. My regular clothes underneath suddenly felt like armor. "Happy now?" I spat.

The principal's face reddened, but I was already storming out, shouldering past the door so hard it slammed against the wall. I dropped onto the curb, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to hold myself together.

Janet appeared beside me, settling down close enough that our shoulders touched. "Hey," she said softly, "this isn't over. I'll tell your dad everything. Principal Stevens had no right to do this – we had permission to tour the school, and we didn't damage anything."

I stared at the pavement, watching a colony of ants march past my feet. "It doesn't matter," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Connor trusted me to do one thing – just one thing. Start school, keep my head down, stay out of trouble. And I couldn't even do that right."

"Stop," Janet's voice was fierce. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing. And if your dad is half as amazing as you say he is, he'll understand." She squeezed my arm gently. "Besides, you've got me now. And I don't abandon my friends."

We waited there for what felt like an eternity before Connor's car finally pulled up. "Care to explain what you were thinking?" he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

Janet immediately stood up, her posture defiant. "Lexa didn't do anything wrong. The secretary gave us permission to skip classes today so I could give Lexa a tour. We had a note, and I even gave it to Principal Stevens, but she just crumpled it up. We didn't destroy anything. I was just showing Lexa the drama room, the props she can use for her costume. We were trying them on; nothing was destroyed."

"Thought as much," came a voice from behind us. A man and a woman approached, offering reassuring smiles. "That principal has always had it out for Janet," the man said, his tone light despite the situation. "Ever since Janet accidentally set the school oven on fire trying to make microwave popcorn." He extended his hand to Connor. "I'm Kevin, by the way. Janet's father."

Connor glanced around at us, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Looks like we're going to have to find Lexa a new school."

"Good luck with that," Kevin replied, shaking his head. "We've been trying to find a new school for over a year. Everything is full, and we're close to considering homeschooling."

Connor nodded, "I'll figure something out. But first," he turned to me, his gaze softening, "I want to hear everything from you, Lexa. Let's get some ice cream and talk this through, okay?"

Janet gave me a thumbs-up, her smile wide and supportive. Despite everything, the day didn't seem so bad anymore.

Connor's car was a welcome sight, the engine purring to life as I settled into the passenger seat. With every mile we put between ourselves and the school, the tension from the day's incident seemed to melt away.

"Any preference for where we get ice cream?" Connor asked, throwing me a sideways glance.

"Anywhere with sprinkles," I replied, unable to suppress a grin.

We soon pulled up to a quaint ice cream parlor tucked between a cozy bookstore and a charming flower shop. The place exuded a vintage allure, with its striped awning and pastel-colored decor.

We approached the counter, eyes scanning the vibrant display of flavors. "I'll have a scoop of mint chocolate chip," I decided, pointing at the rich green ice cream that caught my eye.

Connor nodded, "Make that two, with extra sprinkles."

We settled into a cozy booth by the window. I took a bite of my ice cream, the cool, minty sweetness spread across my tongue. We ate in silence, before talking about future vacations, camping trips, and amusement parks. After we finished our ice cream, Connor suggested we take a walk around the nearby park. The park was bustling with activity—kids playing on the swings, joggers making their rounds, and couples strolling hand in hand.

"So, what happened today?" Connor prompted as we walked.

I sighed. "It was all a misunderstanding. Janet just wanted to show me around, and things got blown out of proportion. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Connor listened intently, nodding. "I believe you. We'll sort this out, okay? Besides," he added with a chuckle, "it's not every day you get to skip school for ice cream." He placed an arm over my shoulders.

I laughed, feeling a little lighter. "True. And thanks for believing in me."

Connor smiled warmly but then grew serious. "You're welcome, sweetheart. However, we do need to talk about your cussing at the principal. I understand you were upset, but that language is not okay," he said sternly.

I nodded, "sorry."

"You know," Connor started. "Despite everything that happened today, I think you handled it pretty well. Standing up for yourself is important, but sometimes it's about finding the right way to do it."

"Yeah, I get that. It's just hard sometimes, you know? When things feel unfair."

"I know. But you've got a good head on your shoulders, Lexa. Just remember, I'm here for you, okay?"

I smiled, grateful for his support. "I really appreciate it."

"We just need to figure out what to do now. You can't go back to that school. And if no other school is open for enrolment, then I guess we have no choice but to look into home-schooling. Which means," he smiled, "you get to spend a lot more time at the hospital with me." Connor stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression serious but kind. "We just need to figure out what to do for schooling. Though, it sounds like homeschooling is the way to go. That means you get to spend more time at the hospital with me." A small smile played at the corners of his mouth, it quickly vanished when his phone buzzed. "We need to head back to the E.D.," he said, already turning toward the car. "Will just texted - something's happening at the hospital."

The drive back was tense, with Connor checking his phone at every red light. I'd never seen him this anxious before, and it made my stomach twist into knots. As we approached the hospital, the reason became clear - the parking lot had transformed into a scene from a disaster movie. Red and blue lights from ambulances and police cars strobed against the building's walls. People in scrubs rushed back and forth between emergency vehicles, their faces grim.

Connor's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "I want you to go to the lounge and stay there," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Do NOT come out until someone comes to get you. Do you understand me?"

My heart hammered against my ribs as I nodded. Whatever was happening, it was bad - really bad. I'd spent enough time around the hospital to know when something was seriously wrong, and right now, everything about Connor's demeanor screamed danger.

Connor pulled into his reserved spot, and before the car had fully stopped, he was already reaching for his ID badge. "Go straight to the lounge," he repeated, his voice tight with urgency. "I mean it, Lexa. Do not go wondering around."

I hurried through the staff entrance. Behind me, I could hear Connor's rapid footfalls heading in the opposite direction, toward whatever crisis awaited in the E.D. The doctors' lounge was empty when I entered, the TV mounted on the wall silently playing the local news. I sank into one of the worn leather chairs, trying to calm my racing heart. Through the window, I could still see the chaos in the parking lot - more ambulances arriving, their sirens cutting through the evening air.

My phone buzzed. A text from Janet: "Are you seeing this? Turn on channel 7!"

I grabbed the remote and unmuted the TV. The news anchor's face was grave as she spoke: "...confirming at least fifteen injured in what authorities are calling a mass casualty incident at the downtown shopping center. Multiple victims are being transported to area hospitals..."

The lounge door burst open, making me jump. It was Will his scrubs already splattered with blood. "Lexa, we need your help," he said breathlessly. "The E.D.'s overwhelmed, and we need someone to run supplies from the stockroom. I know Connor said to stay put, but-"

I was already on my feet. "What do you need?"

Will rattled off a list of supplies - gauze, saline bags, trauma kits - as we speed-walked down the corrido and into the stockroom.

"Bring everything to Trauma 3," Will called over his shoulder as he rushed back to the E.D. "And Lexa? Be prepared - it's bad out there."

I punched in the stockroom code. Inside, I grabbed a cart and started loading it methodically. The hospital protocols Connor had drilled into my head kicked in, helping me focus despite the chaos. Four trauma kits. Six bags of saline. Multiple packages of sterile gauze.

As I wheeled the loaded cart toward Trauma 3, the sounds of the E.D. grew louder - urgent voices calling out vitals, the beeping of monitors, muffled cries of pain. Through the windows, I caught glimpses bleeding bodies.

I found Connor in Trauma 3, his sleeves rolled up, working on a young woman about my age. His eyes snapped up as I entered, widening with anger. "Lexa, I told you-"

"Will sent me," I interrupted, already unloading supplies. "You need help, and I know where everything is."

For a moment, Connor looked like he might argue, but another doctor called out for more gauze. I handed it over without hesitation. Connor's expression softened slightly, though worry still creased his forehead. "Stay behind the yellow line," he ordered. "And if anything happens-"

"I know," I said. "I'll get out immediately."

He nodded tersely before turning back to his patient. I stood at my post, ready to hand over whatever they needed, trying not to focus on the blood or the girl's pale face. Instead, I watched Connor work, his movements sure and steady despite the pressure. This was why he was one of the best trauma surgeons in the hospital. This was why people trusted him with their lives.

Hours passed in a blur of motion and urgency. I lost count of how many times I'd run back to the stockroom, how many supplies I'd handed over, how many faces I'd seen wheeled past on gurneys. The E.D. had settled into a rhythm now - still intense, but more controlled than the initial chaos.

The girl Connor had been working on was stabilized and moved to the ICU. Two more critical patients had come through Trauma 3 since then. I'd learned to anticipate what they needed before they asked - more gauze, another saline bag, fresh gloves. Around midnight, things finally began to slow down. The last of the victims had been treated and either admitted or released. The emergency staff looked exhausted, their scrubs stained, their faces drawn. Connor was talking quietly with Will near the nurses' station, both of them looking over charts.

I slumped against the wall, the adrenaline that had kept me going finally wearing off. My legs felt like jelly, and my hands wouldn't stop trembling. The events of the day - the school incident, ice cream with Connor, and now this.

Connor noticed me first. He said something to Will, then made his way over, his footsteps heavy with fatigue. Without a word, he pulled me into a tight hug. I could feel him trembling too, just slightly. "You did good," he murmured into my hair. "Really good."

I nodded against his chest, breathing in the familiar mix of antiseptic and his cologne. "Is everyone going to be okay?"

Connor pulled back, his face serious but proud. "Thanks to quick action and a great team, yes. We didn't lose anyone tonight." He paused, studying my face. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," I said, though my voice wavered slightly. "Just... processing everything."

He squeezed my shoulder gently. "Let's get you home. We both need sleep, and tomorrow..." he trailed off, glancing around the now-quiet E.D. "Tomorrow we'll deal with everything else."

---

This is chapter 12, the other chapter that refused to show up

I laid awake in bed, my mind refusing to quiet down. Every time I closed my eyes, fragments of the day flashed behind my eyelids -blood-soaked gauze, pale faces contorted in pain, the metallic scent of blood that still seemed to cling to my clothes even after changing.

"Take this." Connor stepped into my room, holding out some gummies. "They're melatonin. I don't want to make this a habit, but it will help you sleep tonight."

I took them without argument, then sank back into my pile of pillows. The sheets felt too cool against my skin, making me shiver despite the room's warmth.

"I know today was really rough," Connor said softly, settling onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. "If you need to talk, I'm here, or you can even talk to Dr. Charles." His hand rested gently on my blanket-covered foot.

I nodded, a yawn catching me by surprise. The melatonin was starting to work, making my limbs feel heavy.

"Want me to read you a book to help you fall asleep?" His voice was gentle.

I shook my head, pulling the blankets tighter around myself. Sleep crept over me like a heavy fog, dragging me down into uneasy darkness. Nightmares were waiting there - a looming figure towered above me, its wide grin full of malice, reaching out with shadowy hands.

I shot up, blankets fell off my trembling bod. My hands pressed against the mattress, sinking into its softness. Why was I in a bed? The room unfurled around me—a sanctuary of teal and emerald green that seemed to breathe a life of its own. Massive posters dominated the walls: a jet-black stallion, with untamed power, stood sentinel beside intricate dragon artwork. Each poster looked hand-drawn, with meticulous details that suggested someone's passionate obsession.

My bare feet touched cool wooden floors. They moved instinctively, exploring the space with a strange mixture of familiarity and alien uncertainty. A behemoth bookshelf consumed an entire wall—leather-bound volumes pressed against paperbacks, some brand new, others worn with countless readings. Unexpected titles caught my eye: ancient mythology texts nestled beside modern fantasy novels.

The flat-screen TV gleamed like a dark mirror, a gaming console underneath scattered with titles. A weathered cowboy game case sat prominently, its case softened by repeated handling. Someone loved this game. Someone knew this room intimately. But was that someone me?

I drifted toward the door cautiously. The hallway beyond stretched with a haunting familiarity that tickled my memory. "Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone here?" Silence answered. But not the empty silence of abandonment—no, this felt expectant. Waiting.

The floorboards splintered beneath my feet with a thunderous crack. Gravity seized me, pulling me into darkness—a bottomless void that seemed to swallow sound itself. I screamed, the terror ripping from my throat, but the noise dissolved into silence.

Sunlight burst around me. Leaves erupted with a green explosion, cushioning my fall. My body ached. Slowly, I pushed myself up. Pine needles clung to my skin and clothing—nature's desperate attempt to mark me as part of this wild landscape. The forest breathed around me.

The heat was oppressive. Sweat beaded on my forehead, tracing lines down my cheeks like A roar shattered the forest's fragile silence. I spun around, the sight before me caught my breath. A dragon filled my entire field of vision. Its scales weren't just brown and gray—they were a living tapestry of stone and earth, each scale a complex mosaic that shifted and breathed with its own internal light. Its eyes—oh, its eyes. Not animal. Not mindless. They held an intelligence that bore through me.

Not waiting to see what it would do, I ran. Branches whipped my face, and roots tried to trip my feet. The dragon's breath seemed to chase me through the forest. The dragon's voice rolled, "It's okay, little one," she murmured, each word a cascade of sound that seemed to vibrate through the forest floor.

I stumbled, my foot catching on a gnarled root. Moss and fallen leaves rushing up to meet me as I crashed down.

Massive wings and scales glittered as they folded carefully around me. The dragon's body radiated heat warming the damp forest air. Her eyes met mine. "I knew your mother when the world was different," the dragon said. "Back when she was a goddess. Not the kind mortals pray to—but the kind that reshapes mountains with a single breath."

I pushed myself up, leaves and twigs tangled in my hair. "You knew her?" The question came out as a whisper, fragile as spun glass.

She nodded. "We were more than friends. We were... companions. Allies. Before the dragon riders, before the wars that tore the world apart." The dragon whispered, her voice weighted with prophecy. "Something's coming. The final battle approaches. Prepare yourself for what cannot be stopped."

Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet liquefied. Tendrils of inky darkness reached up, wrapping around my ankles and pulling me down into an endless void. Gravity dissolved, and time became meaningless. I plummeted through absolute darkness—a darkness so complete it felt alive. Thick. Sentient. My hands stretched out, fingers grasping at nothing, searching for any reference point in this infinite black.

Whispers began—soft at first, then growing. Multiplying.

"Don't trust him."

"He brings destruction."

The voices swirled around me, formless and cold. Each whisper carried the weight of a thousand secrets, spinning a web of warning and dread. They weren't just sounds but living things, entities with intent.

"They will all betray you, one by one."

They spoke in unison now, a chorus of fractured warnings, each voice distinct yet blending into a single, terrifying message. My hands pressed against my ears, but the voices weren't sound. They were something deeper, something that penetrated thought itself.

Blood dripped from my eyes landing onto the ground. Something deeper was breaking inside me. The shriek that tore from my throat that wasn't human.

"You need to be ready."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

"Protect yourself."

Droplets of blood continued to fall.

"Trust no one but yourself."

"Only one will remain true."

The warning vibrated through my bones. My hands—pale as moonlight, fingers long and trembling—pressed against an invisible barrier. Something was coming—something that would shatter everything.

"He will bring you down."

"He will turn everyone against you."

"Trust no one."

The voices shattered like broken glass, each fragment cutting deeper than the last. "Stop! Please stop!" My body folded in on itself, a human origami of pure desperation. Bones pressed against cold stone, muscles trembling with exhaustion that ran deeper than physical pain.

Darkness consumed me, I couldn't escape.

My fingers clawed at the ground. "Please," I sobbed, the word dissolving into the void before it could fully form. My body was a trembled constellation of fear, each muscle coiled tight enough to snap. Time became meaningless. Seconds stretched into centuries. Minutes collapsed into heartbeats. I lay there—suspended between what was real and what was remembered, my body a fragile bridge between worlds. My fingers stretched out, searching. The darkness pressed against my skin. No walls. No boundaries. Just an endless canvas of absolute black that seemed to shift and recalibrate with each breath I took.

Something watched. Not with eyes. Not with intention. But with a presence so massive it could crush reality itself. Each step became a challenge. Each breath a negotiation with the darkness that surrounded me. "Who's there?" The question dissolved before it could fully form, swallowed by the void's infinite hunger. There was no response, just the rhythm of my own existence—heartbeat, breath, movement. A solitary dance in a universe that refused to acknowledge my presence. The darkness knew my name. I could feel it.

"Lexa, wake up!" A familiar voice cut through the darkness. "Come on sweetheart, wake up!"

My eyes flew open as I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The shadows from my nightmare dissolved into the soft glow of my bedroom lamp. Connor loomed over me, his face tight with worry.

"It's okay," Connor wrapped me into a hug, his arms steady and warm against my trembling body. "It was just a nightmare."

"It was so horrible." I sobbed, my fingers clutching his top. The fabric was damp beneath my cheeks, and I could still see flashes of the nightmare - that terrible grinning figure, the blood, and the voices.

"Shhh, it's okay. It's okay." Connor rubbed slow circles on my back, his other hand cradling the back of my head.. "You're safe."

My alarm clock cast a soft red glow across the room - 4:30 AM. Outside my window, a gentle rain had started, pattering against the glass in a soothing rhythm.

Connor glanced at his watch. "No point in going back to sleep now. We'd need to be up soon anyways to head to work."

"But, you're supposed to have yesterday and today off. You got called in yesterday already!" I accused, my voice rising with frustration.

"I know, but they are overwhelmed and understaffed. We can go for a walk or something on my lunch break."

"Yeah, I guess." I said reluctantly.

Connor's expression softened. "Since we are up so early, we could always stop somewhere for breakfast." His tone was gentle. "We could go to a dinner down the street, they server great pancakes."

I nodded, managing a small smile despite my exhaustion.

"Great, how about you go take a bath?" Connor suggested. "By the time you're done, we can head down the road for pancakes, then head over to the hospital."

"I guess." The words came out more dejected than I'd intended. I stood up slowly, my muscles stiff from the tension of the nightmare. The bathroom tiles were cool against my bare feet. I turned the brass taps, watching as steaming water thundered into the claw-foot tub. The lavender Epsom salt crystals dissolved like snow, releasing their soothing scent into the rising steam.

"I need to find the Night Ravens tonight," I muttered. The name felt dangerous on my tongue, exciting and forbidden. I grabbed my phone, then quickly sent a text to Janet. Hey, I'm going out tonight to find a few people. Want to come?

The response came quickly, making my phone vibrate against the edge of the tub. where are you going?

I hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. It's going to sound weird, but it's in an alley.

Janet's reply was instant, almost angry in its urgency: Are you crazy! Hell no! The city is dangerous place at night. Please don't go.

I threw my phone down onto my folded towel, frustration burning in my chest. The screen glowed accusingly up at me, but if Janet was too scared to come, I'd just have to do this alone.

Three sharp knocks on the door made me jump. "We need to leave," Connor's voice. "Emergencies are rushing in. Perks of being a doctor, you always get called in early." I could hear him moving quickly in the hallway. "Five minutes, Lexa. The ED won't wait."

I sighed, then quickly stepped out of the tub, the cool bathroom air prickling against my damp skin. Dressing hurriedly, I pulled on my favorite worn jeans and a soft hoodie.

We rushed down to the garage, not slowing to say hi to roaming neighbors. Connor slid into the driver's seat, then turned the key. The engine grumbled in protest, a deep, reluctant growl, then died with a sputtering sigh. He tried again, his brow furrowing in concentration, but the car remained stubbornly silent.

"Looks like we're catching the L train," he said. We sprinted out of the parking garage, weaving through the morning crowd like fish in a bustling stream. The city was alive with its usual honking horns, distant sirens, and the hum of hurried conversations. We skidded to a stop at the ticket kiosk, fumbling for change with fingers still chilled from the morning air, then dashed onto the L train just as the doors began to slide shut. The train lurched into motion, the clatter of wheels on tracks blending with the soft chatter of commuters.

"I was wondering," I said breathlessly, trying to steady my voice over the train's rumble. "Well…It's kind of stupid, but I was wondering if we and a few others at med could go camping."

Connor leaned back in his seat, giving a thoughtful nod. "Ya know, that does sound fun," he replied. "How about this, when we get to med—" His voice cut off as a sound like twisting metal tore through the air – that horrible screech of emergency brakes engaging at full force. The train lurched violently, its momentum throwing us forward. Bodies tumbled like dominoes, briefcases and phones clattering across the floor.

"Not again," Connor groaned from somewhere near my feet.

I lay sprawled on the grimy floor, the metal ridges pressing patterns into my palms. My head throbbed where it had connected with the pole, each pulse of pain keeping time with my racing heart. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and hot metal filled the car.

"Let me see," Connor's voice shifted into that calm, authoritative tone I knew from the ED. His fingers, always steady in a crisis, gently probed the growing bump on my skull. His eyes, sharp and focused, tracked my pupils as he performed a quick neurological check. "You're going to be okay – no signs of concussion, but that's going to leave quite a goose egg." He straightened up, already scanning the car. "I need to go check on everyone else."

He stood "I've only ridden this thing twice," he muttered, pulling a penlight from his pocket as he made his way toward an elderly woman clutching her wrist, "and both times it crashes." He moved to another person. "I'm Dr. Rhodes from Chicago Med. Everyone stay calm. Let me know if you're injured."

Images flashed through my mind, I collapsed to the ground, everything went black. When my eyes fluttered open, reality had shifted entirely. Instead of the crashed train, I stood beneath an open sky streaked with sunset colors—amber and rose to bleed into a deep purple. Before me loomed a Victorian mansion, its facade rising three stories high, with steep gables and ornate trim work that seemed to catch the dying light. Shuttered windows stared at us like dozens of watchful eyes, and thick ivy crept up the eastern wall like gnarled fingers. Someone stood rigid beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, while another teenager took in a deep breath.

"Well, Brian," the other teenage boy said. "this is it. Ready to let us into your fortress?"

Something about them felt familiar, like I knew them from somewhere. Their faces, their voices, their stance... But where did I know them from? Who were they?

Brian's lips curved into a mischievous smirk, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since we'd left the cave. "Perfect timing, actually. My siblings are off at their precious training sessions, and Father's stuck in that meeting with Luke." He pulled out a sleek key card, swiping it with ease. The door clicked open with an expensive-sounding whisper.

"Holy shit," Logan breathed, as we stepped inside. His eyes went wide, taking in the soaring ceiling and crystal chandelier. "I mean, the outside was impressive, but this..." He spun in a slow circle, whistling low. "Dude, your house makes those celebrity mansion tours look like cardboard boxes!"

The afternoon sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across imported rugs and antique furniture that probably cost more than ten houses. Logan's eyes took on that dangerous glint I knew too well, and he leaned in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just imagine the pranks we could pull in a place like this."

"No." Brian dropped his backpack onto a hand-carved table with a dull thud, shaking his head firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Come on!" Logan's grin widened, showing teeth. "Nothing destructive, just some harmless fun. Think about it – we could start something legendary here. The Great Richardson Manor Prank Wars!" He spread his hands like he was envisioning a marquee. "Your siblings wouldn't know what hit them."

I felt a smile tugging at my lips as the possibilities started spinning through my head. The perfection of this place was practically begging to be disrupted. "He's got a point," I said, already imagining the chaos we could unleash. "This place needs a little shaking up. What do you say, Brian? Ready to make some history?"

Brian hesitated, his fingers drumming against the carved table edge. Fear flickered across his face. "You don't understand. Everything here has a place, a purpose. One chair out of alignment, one painting tilted..." He trailed off, glancing nervously at the sweeping staircase. "Father notices everything."

"That's exactly why it's perfect!" Logan bounded across the room, his sneakers leaving faint scuffs on the immaculate floor. He grabbed Brian's shoulders, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Think about it – what if, just once, everything wasn't perfect? What if chaos reigned in the mighty Richardson Manor?"

I moved closer, studying Brian's face. "We could start small. Maybe rearrange some furniture in the east wing? Or..." I grinned, remembering an old trick. "Remember that time in the weapons room when we made that harmless smoke bomb?"

"The one that smelled like cotton candy?" Logan snapped his fingers. "Oh man, imagine that drifting through these fancy air vents. Your siblings would lose their minds!"

A laugh escaped Brian before he could catch it. For a moment, his whole demeanor shifted; the rigid set of his shoulders melted away, and his eyes crinkled at the corners just like they used to when we'd spend hours trading terrible jokes in the library. He looked younger and freer – more like Brian, who'd snorted milk through his nose when he lost a bet.

But then his expression clouded, darkness settling over his features like storm clouds gathering on a summer afternoon. "Father's meeting ends in an hour," he said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. He glanced at his watch, the gold face catching the light. "And Alexandra could come back any minute – she's been strutting around ever since she got a boyfriend.." His lips twisted into something between a grimace and a smile.

"An hour?" Logan's eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. "We can do a lot of damage in an hour. Come on, Brian. When was the last time you actually had fun in this mausoleum?"

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away precious seconds as Brian stood frozen, caught between duty and desire. Finally, a slow smile spread across his face – not the careful, measured smile I'd seen him practice in the training room, but something wild. "I know exactly where to start. Alexandra's been insufferable ever since she made Elite rank. Maybe it's time someone messed with her precious training room..."

I shared a victorious look with Logan as we followed Brian up the curving staircase, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

Their "harmless fun" spiraled into chaos faster than a cafeteria food fight. Logan, armed with a spray can he'd mysteriously produced from his backpack, had graduated from juvenile doodles to what he called "artistic expressions of rebellion" across the walls.

"You know what would really complete this masterpiece?" Logan drawled, stepping back to admire his handiwork – a particularly crude stick figure wearing what appeared to be Mr. Richardson's sword. "Maybe some glitter. Nothing says 'I reject your authority' like sparkles."

After thirty minutes of what Logan dubbed "Operation Manor Mayhem" – which involved liberally buttering every doorknob, transforming the formal living room into something that would give an interior designer nightmares, and turning the mansion into a toilet paper winter wonderland – hunger started gnawing at my stomach.

"Hey Brian," I called out, rummaging through kitchen cabinets. "Please tell me your family actually eats food and doesn't just photosynthesize wealth?"

Brian sprawled on the Italian leather couch, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. "I'm so dead," he groaned. "You're going to find my body stuffed in one of these antique vases."

"Drama queen," Logan snorted from his perch on the marble countertop. "At least you'll have a fancy funeral."

"I'm making noodles," I announced, grabbing a plastic container and filling it to the line with tap water.. The fork clinked against the container's sides as I stabbed it in to break up the dried noodle brick, then I popped it in the microwave and punched in three minutes. I'd barely taken two steps when a violent pop shattered the kitchen silence, followed by an ominous crackling sound .

"What the hell was that?" Brian bolted upright from the couch, his face draining to the color of printer paper. His eyes were wide enough to show white all around the irises.

Brian and Logan sprinted to the kitchen, where the microwave had transformed into a miniature lightning storm. The metal fork inside created a spectacular light show—blue-white sparks ricocheting off the walls like angry fireflies.

"Oh man," Logan drawled, slouching against the doorframe with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He slow-clapped with exaggerated enthusiasm, each clap echoing like a mockery in the tension-filled kitchen. "And here I was, saving an actual firework for the grand finale. Way to steal my thunder – pun absolutely intended." He paused "Though I guess we could still throw it in there. You know, for science."

The ground opened up, sucking me into a forest. Brian, Logan and two older men surrounded me. A howl shattered the twilight air, closer this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of clumsy paws.

I glanced up as a wolf pup stumbled into view, its oversized paws tangling. Gray-brown fur stuck out in every direction like it had lost a fight with a static balloon, and its eyes glowed amber in the fading light. "Aww, it's so cute, I wanna boop the snoot!" Before anyone could stop me, I dropped into a crouch, extending my hand toward its tiny black nose. Instead of the playful greeting I expected, needle-sharp teeth sank into my finger. "Ow!"

"Lexa!" Luke yanked me backward by my shirt collar. A blur of silver-gray fur sailed through where I'd been standing – an adult wolf, its muscles rippling beneath its coat, yellow eyes blazing with maternal outrage. "What the hell are you thinking?"

"Get out of here!" Rick's voice pitched high with panic as he swung his sword in wild arcs through the air.

The mother wolf's growl rumbled through the clearing. Her lips pulled back from teeth the size of my fingers, but instead of attacking, she darted forward, snatched her pup by the scruff of its neck, and vanished into the underbrush. The sound of breaking branches marked their retreat.

"I just wanted to pet the puppy," I mumbled, examining my bleeding finger while trying to make myself as small as possible under Luke's glare.

"It was a foolish and reckless thing to do." Luke's voice dropped to that dangerous quiet that was worse than yelling. His face had gone the color of storm clouds. "That thing could have killed you, but did you think of that? No, you just see something cute and go to it. Like a toddler reaching for a pretty snake."

Logan slow-clapped. "Bravo! Truly spectacular performance. I especially loved the part where you tried to make friends with something that could rip your face off." He gestured to my bleeding finger with a flourish. "Though I must say, getting bitten right after biting someone else might be karma at its finest."

"Shut up, Logan," I muttered, but there wasn't any real heat in it. My cheeks burned as I wrapped the edge of my sleeve around my throbbing finger.

"No, no, he's got a point," Rick said, finally lowering his sword. "You bite me, then immediately get karma'd by a wolf pup. The universe has a sense of humor."

The chilling voices filled the void.

You must escape.

He's coming.

He wants you.

Revenge is what he wants, and revenge is what he will get.

"Is she breathing?" Someone asked.

"Someone get that doctor, tell him a kid is flopping around."

"LEXA?"

I shot up so fast the world tilted sideways, my vision swimming like I was underwater. The other passengers blurred into smears of color as I stumbled backward, collapsing into an empty seat.

"Easy," Connor knelt in front of me, his white coat pooling around his feet. "It's okay. Easy."

"I remember..." The words caught in my throat as images flashed through my mind. "Well...I think I remember." I shook my head, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through my skull. "I had friends, Brian and Logan." The names felt both foreign and familiar on my tongue, like a half-remembered dream.

"I think you hit your head a little harder than I thought." Connor's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Stay seated, I need to keep checking the others."

"Dad, wait." I grabbed his sleeve. "What happened? Why did the train crash?"

His jaw tightened, "Looks like someone dropped a trailer on the tracks," he said tensely. "Could be trying to cause a crash." His eyes darted to the window, then back to me.

"Don't leave me," my words were barely audible. "Please don't leave me."

Connor sat next to me, wrapping me in a hug. "I know you're scared," he murmured, his chest rumbling with each word, "but there's others that need me. I promise I won't be long." He pulled back slightly. "Besides, ambulances should be here soon – I can hear Rescue 51 approaching. I'll be back, I promise."

"Okay," I whispered, my fingers slowly uncurling from his coat. I watched him walk away.

Through the smudged train window, I watched an ambulance screech to a halt, its red and blue lights sending wild shadows dancing across the wreckage. Sylvie Casey and Gabriela Dawson leaped out.

Fire trucks rumbled in next. Squad 3's familiar red bulk pulled up alongside Truck 81, and I recognized Kelly Severide's silver helmet gleaming as he jumped down from the cab. Police cruisers formed a protective perimeter, their lights adding to the dizzying emergency light show that transformed the crash scene into something almost beautiful in its terrible way.

I pushed myself to my feet, my legs trembling like autumn leaves in a storm. The metal floor felt unsteady beneath me, tilted at an angle that made my stomach lurch. Those strange images – memories? visions? – kept flashing through my mind like a broken projector: Brian's laugh, Logan's face, a darkness I couldn't quite remember but somehow feared. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I could hear my pulse in my ears, drowning out the chaos around me. Each breath came faster than the last, until I was practically gasping.

"Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking on that single syllable. Then louder, panic rising in my chest: "Dad!" I needed him – needed his steady hands and calm voice, needed the safety I'd always found in his presence. Through the window, I could see him working with the paramedics, his white coat now stained with someone else's blood as he helped load a patient into the waiting ambulance. He looked so far away, separated from me by twisted metal and shattered glass.

The world spun faster now, colors bleeding together like watercolors in the rain. I pressed my back against the cold metal wall of the train car, trying to ground myself as my breathing came in short, desperate gasps.

Through the smudged window, I watched Dad climb into the back of an ambulance with Sylvie Brett. The door's of the ambulance slammed shut, then drove off.

"Dad," I whispered, but he was already gone, the ambulance's red and blue lights fading into the distance. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall until I hit the floor, the metal ridges pressing patterns into my palms. Somewhere nearby, someone was crying – deep, wracking sobs that seemed to echo my own rising panic.

The strange memories kept flooding back, sharper now, more insistent. A warehouse looming in darkness. Brian's laugh, hollow and echoing. Logan's face, twisted in... fear? Anger? The images flickered through my mind like an old film reel, fragmented and distorted but somehow familiar, like a nightmare I couldn't quite remember but couldn't fully forget.

My reflection caught my eye in the window – pale face, wide eyes, a thin line of blood trailing down my temple that I hadn't noticed before. But it wasn't my ghostly image that made my breath catch in my throat. It was the figure standing on the tracks behind the train, barely visible through the emergency lights and morning mist. A man in a leather jacket, his face hidden in shadow, watching. Waiting.

I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, but when I looked again, he was gone – vanished like smoke into the chaos of the crash scene.

The world tilted sideways as another wave of dizziness hit me. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, and the crying I'd heard earlier – had it been me all along? The taste of copper filled my mouth.

"Miss? Can you hear me?" A paramedic I didn't recognize crouched in front of me, her uniform a different shade of blue than the Chicago Med crews wore. The patch on her shoulder read "Lakeshore Hospital" in neat embroidery. "I'm Sarah. We need to get you checked out."

"No," I mumbled, trying to push myself up straighter. "My dad…. He'll want me there….there' to Chicago Med." The words felt thick and clumsy on my tongue, like I was talking through syrup.

Sarah exchanged a look with her partner, their expressions grim. "Chicago Med's ED is overwhelmed with critical traumas from the crash. We're diverting to Lakeshore." She pulled out a penlight, the beam sending sharp needles of pain through my skull. "You've got a nasty head lac and possible concussion. We need to move now."

"But my dad..." My protest was cut short as another wave of nausea hit me. The train car spun like a carnival ride, and suddenly I was being lifted onto a stretcher, the ceiling lights blurring into streaks of harsh white above me.

"We'll try to located him and notify him. He's most likely already been transferred to Chicago Med." Sarah's partner assured me as they wheeled me out. Through my tunnel vision, I caught glimpses of the crash scene – firefighters cutting through twisted metal, paramedics rushing between patients, police holding back a growing crowd of onlookers.

"Dad!" I tried to call out, but my voice was barely a whisper. The last thing I saw before the ambulance doors closed was Chicago Med's ambulance returning, my father jumping out with his white coat stained red, his head turning frantically as he searched the scene. But we were already pulling away, sirens wailing to life, carrying me further and further from the only person I trusted to keep me safe.

In the back of the rig, Sarah worked efficiently, hooking up monitors and starting an IV. The rhythmic beeping of the cardiac monitor seemed to sync with my racing thoughts: Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Something's wrong.

"Blood pressure's dropping," I heard Sarah call to her partner. "Step on it!"

The last thing I remembered before darkness claimed me was Sarah inserting an IV.