The school bell rang with its usual clatter, and students streamed from the building like leaves on wind. Ethan moved quietly among them, unnoticed as always.
Just outside the gates, Paige stood with her backpack slung over one shoulder, already texting. She looked up as Ethan approached.
"Heading to see Rachel again," she said with a small smile. "I've got her a few art supplies. Thought it might help."
Ethan nodded. "That's really thoughtful. I'm sure it will. Keeping the mind busy at times like these can be very beneficial."
"You coming?"
He paused, gave a small, apologetic shrug. "Sorry, I can't today. Something's come up—someone I need to meet. It's important."
Her expression flickered with disappointment. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just… something I've been working on. Needs finishing."
Half-truths were best delivered softly and with tired eyes. Paige nodded after a moment.
"Alright. Text me later?"
"Of course. I'll go with you tomorrow, so let Rachel know I'll see her then. Tell her I'll bring a board game or something."
She smiled, and he returned it with a practiced ease. She turned and began walking toward the hospital.
Ethan waited precisely fifteen seconds before heading in the same direction—keeping to the opposite sidewalk, his steps exact. Paige moved ahead, and he trailed discreetly, never entering her line of sight. They were both headed to the same building, just to different outcomes.
The hospital loomed into view—gray and tall. A place of recovery for some, confusion for others.
Amy and Rachel were just a few floors apart. In fact, Ethan wasn't sure if they even knew that the other was in the hospital, let alone the same hospital. But this wasn't the time for tangled reunions or emotional detours. He'd made his choice today.
He watched Paige disappear through the main entrance. A nurse at the desk greeted her with casual familiarity.
Ethan entered twenty seconds later through the auxiliary staff entrance on the east side. He wore a plain jacket, nondescript jeans, and a cap low over his eyes. Just another visitor.
He moved quickly, pulling out his phone and connecting to the hospital's unsecured guest Wi-Fi.
Within seconds, he was inside the administrative database.
He navigated to the patient location system—each entry tagged with room, floor, and observation schedule. Amy's file was there, cleanly marked.
A few quick commands rerouted her location tag—first to the east wing, then to the basement storage, then briefly to a pediatric isolation room. The digital trail now read like a chaotic system failure. Nurses reviewing her status would assume a tech glitch.
That wasn't enough.
He edited the system logs to simulate a scheduled bed transfer request—automatically approved, seemingly issued from the nurses' station. When someone finally traced it, it would look like a clerical mess-up, not a missing person.
And if Amy was later found in one of those said rooms after being missing for a while?
The blame would fall on them, not her.
Elevator doors dinged nearby.
He turned and stepped inside.
Perfect.
Amy's room was on the fifth floor, west wing. Observation only—no IVs, no cardiac monitors. It would be a simple lift.
When he reached her door, he knocked lightly, then opened it with practiced ease.
Amy sat near the window, dressed in a hospital gown, her long hair slightly tangled. She looked up quickly, nerves flashing across her face. But when she saw him, she relaxed.
"You came."
"Told you I would. Why? Didn't you trust me to keep my word?"
She stood, tugging the gown tighter.
"No, I thought you wouldn't be able to come in. My parent didn't want me to have any visitors. Was it hard? Sneaking in?"
Ethan handed her the small backpack he carried. Inside was a full change of clothes: jeans, a dark hoodie, tennis shoes, and a discreet face mask.
"You'll blend in fine," he said. "We walk out. No alarms. They won't notice you, trust me."
Amy hesitated. "Are you sure—"
"Positive. The nurses won't be looking for you for at least another hour. By the time they notice anything wrong, you'll be long gone."
She changed quickly in the adjacent bathroom. When she stepped out, the hoodie and face mask hid most of her features. She looked like any teenager—tired, quiet, anonymous.
"Let's go."
They moved through the hall with confidence. Ethan timed their path, choosing the back stairwell over the elevators. He nodded to a janitor along the way, who barely glanced at them. They took the elevators down to the first floor.
They exited through the fire safety door on the west side—one that didn't lock from the inside and hadn't had a functioning camera for months. Ethan knew because he'd checked the maintenance logs.
Once outside, the sun was beginning to dip. A golden haze lay across the city skyline.
Amy exhaled. "That was too easy."
Ethan glanced at her. "Security in most public hospitals is built around paperwork and keeping their drug safe. Not keeping people from leaving or even competence."
She half-smiled. "Scary."
"Only if you're on the wrong side of it."
They walked two blocks before catching a taxi.
Inside the cab, Amy grew quiet. Ethan noticed the way her hands gripped the strap of her bag. Tension lingered beneath the calm.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
"I think so," she said. "Still scared, or maybe I'm nervous, I can't really tell, but… I'm starting to feel better."
He nodded.
"Relax, Amy, you're not alone. You're going through a lot of changes, and that can be scary. Like I said, I'll always be here to help you through it, so trust me."
She looked at him, searching his face. "This person we're meeting… they really understand?"
He hated how much she needed him — and how much he liked being needed. Regardless of his feelings, he chose his next words carefully. "Better than anyone, even me."
He didn't say Peter's name. Not yet.
She nodded and turned to the window.
As they drove, Ethan glanced at the city's blur beyond the glass and allowed himself a small, invisible smile.
So far, everything was going exactly according to plan.