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Night in Westbridge had a pulse of its own.
It wasn't the chaos of daytime, with overhead pages and clipped footsteps. It was slower, steadier. The kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you until you forgot how loud the silence could get. Machines beeped softly in the background, like a metronome for everything left unsaid.
Nora sat alone in Observation Room 2, her elbows resting on her knees, a file open in her lap. She wasn't reading. Not really. Her eyes followed the lines, but her mind hovered somewhere else - somewhere colder, sharper.
She hadn't slept. Again. Her body was used to the rhythm now: caffeine in the veins, adrenaline in the chest, tension locked in the jaw. What she wasn't used to was the stillness. The way night stripped down everything and left you with only your thoughts.
The file was a post-op summary, but it felt like static in her hands. Her thoughts circled a single name she couldn't find. Lily Keane. Erased from the system. Sealed behind a digital lock someone else had closed. Not Elias. Not her. That part lingered.
A buzz on her pager broke the spiral. She stood before the screen even lit up.
Room 414. Vitals unstable.
The patient was mid-forties, post-surgical, heart rate spiking. She adjusted the IV and rechecked the oxygen saturation, movements swift, controlled. She didn't speak. She never did in moments like these.
Rowan entered as she placed the last sensor.
"You're fast," he said, voice low.
"I was closer," she answered.
The situation resolved in less than five minutes. No chaos. Just competence. They stepped into the corridor together, where the silence pressed heavier than before.
"I'm getting coffee," Rowan said after a pause. "You're coming."
She followed.
The break room was dim and quiet, a hum coming from the vending machine. Nora wrapped her fingers around the cup he handed her, warmth soaking into skin that had forgotten it was cold.
They sat without speaking for a while. Not every silence needed to be filled - but this one carried weight. He studied her without making it obvious. She stared at the table.
"Do you ever sleep, Keane?" he finally asked.
She raised her eyes. "You always this gentle with the people you suspect?"
His mouth twitched. "Only the ones I can't figure out."
She held his gaze, then let her shoulders lower slightly. "Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I don't. Lately... I don't."
He didn't push. Just nodded once, like that was enough.
"Dreams?"
"Memories," she corrected.
She didn't explain. But in her mind, something flickered - the image of a hospital room, smaller than this one, lit by morning sun. A girl with soft brown hair curled under thin sheets, her hoodie slipping from one shoulder. A laugh. A sentence Nora couldn't remember. But the smile - the smile stayed.
A kind of quiet joy right before the storm.
She blinked, and it was gone.
Rowan leaned back in his chair, stretching one leg forward. "First time I did night shift, I passed out in a storage room. Woke up with a cold pack stuck to my face and a post-it note on my chest that said: 'You lived.'"
A short laugh escaped her. Real. Brief. It startled them both.
"You don't seem like the collapsing type," she said.
"I wasn't - until then."
They shared a pause. It didn't feel awkward.
"Why did you come here?" he asked, tone softer now.
She looked at him. Not sharp this time - just steady. "You don't want to know who I really am."
"Maybe I already do."
She rose, crumpled her empty cup, and crossed to the bin. "It's late."
"You're not going to answer that, are you?"
She gave him a look over her shoulder. "No."
He didn't follow. Just watched her walk out, the soft squeak of the door the only sound left behind.
Back in the corridor, the lights flickered slightly. She passed the nurses' station, the hum of machines returning. Her eyes drifted toward Room 408.
The room was dark. Empty. Clean.
She stopped in front of the glass. Stared inside, as if expecting something to take shape in the shadows. And for a second, she saw Lily again - curled up the same way, smiling like she wasn't in pain, holding onto something she never got to keep.
Nora's hand tightened around the pen still in her pocket.
Then it faded.
She turned away, heading back toward the west wing. The silence felt heavier than usual. Like it was trying to say something.
Just before she reached the junction, a soft metallic click echoed behind her. She stopped. Turned.
No one.
A monitor blinked once in the far room. A red light on a camera shifted position.
She didn't move for a while. Just stood there, breathing slowly, every part of her suddenly aware of how exposed she was.
Sometimes the quiet wasn't safety.
Sometimes, it was surveillance.