"Click."
The door creaked open, and a young woman stepped inside, dressed in a pale-blue nurse uniform and clutching a clipboard thick with papers. Her steps were quiet, practiced.
Grace glanced over, her silver hair catching the faint hospital light."Miss," she called softly, "when will I be discharged?"
The nurse offered a warm smile, walking over to the monitors and checking the wires with routine precision. Her fingers moved quickly, adjusting a few settings and jotting something down.
"You're free to go now," she said after a moment, her voice gentle. "But be careful around water for the next few days, okay? The stitches on your head need to stay dry."
Grace nodded once, her expression unreadable. She rose from the bed in one smooth motion, her movements steady despite the bandage still wrapped around her head. Without another word, she walked toward the small changing area at the back of the room.
The nurse quietly peeled off the discharge form from the bed chart, placed it in her folder, and exited with a polite nod.
Grace emerged a few minutes later, now dressed in simple black shorts that hugged her legs and a loose-fitting white shirt that brushed her hips. Casual, easy to move in.
She opened the door and stepped out of the sterile, dimly lit room.
The air in the hallway felt different—cooler,
Outside the room, the hallway buzzed with quiet life. Patients sat in plastic chairs lined against the wall, some waiting, some dozing, others scrolling through their phones. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and cold.
Grace walked with measured steps, her soft-soled shoes making barely a sound on the polished floor. The hospital felt oddly distant, as if she were moving through a memory rather than reality.
But then—she paused.
Her gaze caught on a man seated several feet ahead, dressed in a sleek black business suit. He sat with arms crossed, posture composed, yet there was a tension in the way his shoulders held. A surgical mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes…
Those eyes.
Grace tilted her head slightly, narrowing her own in suspicion.
Why… do his eyes feel like Xander's?
That sharpness. That cold gleam that always masked calculation. It was impossible—but the sensation twisted in her gut like muscle memory reacting before thought.
The man, sensing her stare, slowly turned his head toward her.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, the hallway went silent.
The man, sensing Grace's unwavering stare, smirked beneath his mask. A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
"Miss, do you need something?" he asked coolly, his voice deep and smooth. "You've been staring like you've seen a ghost."
Grace blinked, shaken out of her thoughts. She shook her head slightly, trying to compose herself.
"Ah… no. Sorry. I just—" Her voice faltered for a second. "You look like someone I knew. That's all."
The man let out a soft chuckle, the kind that slid between arrogance and charm. Then, with deliberate calm, he reached up and pulled his mask down.
Grace froze.
Her eyes widened as if the air had been punched from her lungs.
That face. That smirk.
Xander.
But—how?
Wasn't this some backward another world?
Her thoughts spiraled, disbelief flickering across her features as her lips parted slightly in shock.
The man noticed. Of course he did.
And he smiled wider.
"Miss," he said smoothly, voice dipped in teasing amusement, "don't tell me I still look that good. I get pickup lines like these a lot."
Grace stared at him, stunned.
Snapping out of her daze, Grace narrowed her eyes slightly. Her instincts had screamed Xander, but now… now that she was really looking—there were cracks in the illusion.
The smile that curled on his lips was too easy, too warm. And his eyes—sharp, yes, but not cold. Not like his used to be. That suffocating chill… it wasn't there.
Maybe I jumped too fast, she thought. This isn't him… He wouldn't smile like that.
As if sensing her change in demeanor, the man lifted his hand in a casual, almost playful gesture."Well, my name is Andrew," he offered, tone light, almost amused.
Grace blinked at the name—then exhaled, soft and steady.
Not Xander. Just a face. Nothing more.
"Sorry," she said simply, her voice calm but distant. "I mistook you for someone else."
Without another word, she turned and began to walk away, her steps steady, but something in her chest still felt unsettled.
Behind her, the man chuckled under his breath, watching her retreating figure.
"Wow," he murmured with a smirk, slipping his mask back on and leaning against the chair, "this is rare… I thought she was one of those after my life."
He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the hospital wash over him.
Outside, the hospital grounds buzzed with quiet activity—patients chatting, nurses walking by, family members pacing with worry.
Grace stepped into the sunlight, her steps light but steady. She moved toward the edge of the sidewalk near the road, where a few people lingered.
A sleek black BMW pulled up in front of her, its engine purring softly. The tinted window rolled down with a hum, revealing a sharply featured man with a handsome, brooding face.
"Oi. Get in, Grace," he said flatly.
Grace raised a brow in mild surprise.
Alex?Wasn't he the older brother of the original body's owner?
Without a word, she opened the car door and slid in. The leather interior was cold against her skin.
Alex grumbled under his breath as she settled into the seat.
"Tch. Why did Mom make me come pick her up…" he muttered, barely audible.
Grace heard him—chose to ignore him.
The car pulled away from the curb in smooth silence.
For a while, neither spoke. Then Alex reached forward and flicked on the car radio, letting music flood the space. Pop beats mixed with soft vocals, and Grace tilted her head, listening.
After a few moments, she closed her eyes, murmuring along with the lyrics under her breath. Her voice was quiet, almost instinctual,
Alex glanced at her sideways. He stared at her mouthing the lines for a moment, then clicked the radio off with a sharp jab.
"Annoying," he muttered.
Grace turned her face toward him, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she calmly reached forward and pressed the radio button again, letting the music fill the car once more.
Alex's jaw tightened. He reached out and shut it off again with an annoyed flick.
"Why are you playing that? It's garbage."
A flicker of irritation danced across Grace's eyes. Her hand moved toward the button again,
Before her fingers could reach it, Alex reached over and grabbed her wrist.
In that moment, something sharp sparked in her mind—memory embedded in her like a coded program. Her past life as a machine, downloading knowledge, mastering combat techniques, reacting with flawless precision.
Her expression didn't change, but her body did.
She shifted swiftly, tilting her wrist, reversing the grip with a fluid movement. Before Alex could react, his arm was straightened out awkwardly against the steering wheel.
"Ahhh! Ouch! What the hell—? I'm driving!" he yelped, trying to keep control of the car as it veered slightly before he straightened it.
Grace released him just as quickly, her tone calm as ever.
"Then don't grab me while you're driving," she said coolly, brushing her sleeve like nothing happened.
Alex cast her a stunned, almost fearful glance, rubbing his wrist.