The night still wasn't done with us.
They said Dad had to be admitted till morning—observation, critical watch, the usual careful words doctors use when they don't want to scare you but don't want to lie either. I nodded like I understood, like my chest wasn't splitting open with every beep coming from behind the ICU doors.
I stood there longer than I should have. Just staring. As if the red light above the ICU would change if I begged it silently enough.
That's when guilt hit me.
Elara.
The realization came so suddenly it felt like someone had knocked the air out of my lungs. I turned sharply, my heart sinking. In all the chaos—Dad coughing blood, my phone breaking, crashing the car, screaming at hospital staff—I had forgotten her. The one person who had stepped in without hesitation. Who hadn't panicked. Who hadn't judged me for falling apart.
I opened my mouth to call her name—
Buzz.
Keifer's phone vibrated in the silence. Once. Twice. Then again, sharp and urgent.
He glanced at the screen, his brows knitting together, and answered instantly.
"Keifer," Keiren's voice came through, shaking so badly it barely sounded like him. "Kuya… Kuya Keigan is conscious."
For a second, hope flared. Even I felt it.
"That's good," Keifer said, already straightening. "What's wrong?"
"No," Keiren cried. "It's not good. He's screaming. So loud. He's saying things—bad things. I'm scared. I don't know what to do. Please come fast. Please."
Something changed in Keifer's eyes.
Not panic.
Something darker. Sharper. Like a switch had flipped.
"I'm coming," he said immediately. "Stay with him.
Don't leave his side."
The call ended.
For a heartbeat, the corridor felt too narrow, too quiet.
Keifer turned toward me. "Jay—"
"I'm coming," I said before he could finish, my voice trembling but firm. "I'm not staying here. I can't."
He looked at my face—really looked this time—and nodded. "Okay. Let's go."
I turned, took two steps—and without thinking, reached back and grabbed Elara's wrist.
She looked at me, startled, eyes flicking down to my hand and then back up to my face.
"Come," I said, breathless, almost pleading. "Please."
She didn't ask why. She didn't pull away.
She just nodded once and followed.
The drive felt unreal.
Streetlights blurred past the windows, stretching into long white lines. Keifer drove faster than he should have, hands locked around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crack. No music. No talking. Just the low growl of the engine and the sound of my own breathing, uneven and shaky.
My mind kept replaying Keiren's voice.
I'm terrified.
By the time we reached the hospital, we heard it.
The screaming.
Not angry screaming. Not pain screaming.
Broken screaming.
"I'M USELESS!"
"I'M USELESS—DO YOU HEAR ME?"
My heart dropped into my stomach.
We ran.
Nurses stood at a distance, whispering urgently, unsure whether to intervene. Patients peeked out from behind curtains, fear and curiosity mixing on their faces.
And there he was.
Keigan.
His hair was a mess, hospital gown twisted around his body, hands clawing at nothing. His eyes were wild—seeing something none of us could.
"I couldn't protect anyone!" he screamed, voice hoarse. "I couldn't protect— I'm useless! USELESS!"
Keiren stood frozen near the wall, tears streaming down his face, hands pressed over his ears like he wanted to block the words out.
Keifer didn't hesitate for even a second.
He rushed forward and grabbed Keigan, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight despite the thrashing.
"Keigan!" Keifer shouted. "Look at me!"
Keigan struggled, fists hitting Keifer's chest weakly. "You did everything," he sobbed. "I did nothing. NOTHING!"
"That's not true," Keifer snapped, his voice shaking now. "You survived. You stayed. You're here."
"I FAILED!" Keigan screamed again, breaking completely.
The nurses moved fast.
One of them nodded, syringe already ready. "Hold him."
Keifer tightened his grip, bracing Keigan's shoulder. Keigan fought for a moment longer—then the injection went in.
Slowly, terrifyingly, the strength drained from him.
"I'm… useless…" Keigan whispered, his voice barely audible now.
Then his body went limp.
Silence crashed down around us.
Keifer held him even after he was asleep, forehead resting briefly against his brother's temple, shoulders rising and falling hard.
I realized my cheeks were wet.
I hadn't even noticed when I started crying again.
Elara stood beside me, completely still. Her face was calm, but her fingers were clenched so tightly I could see the tension in her knuckles.
The silence didn't last long.
I noticed it then—Keiren.
He was still standing near the wall, exactly where he had been when we arrived, like someone had forgotten to turn him back on. His whole body was trembling now, shoulders shaking uncontrollably, breaths coming in broken hiccups he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. Tears kept spilling down his face, but he didn't even bother wiping them away.
He looked so small.
Too small to be carrying all of this.
Something inside me snapped—not loudly, not dramatically, but painfully soft, like a thread finally tearing after being stretched too long.
I didn't think. I just moved.
I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him.
At first, he froze. Completely stiff, like he didn't know what to do with comfort anymore. Then—slowly—his hands fisted into my clothes, gripping tight, desperate.
And then he broke.
He buried his face into my chest and started crying. Not silent tears. Not restrained sobs. Full, shaking cries that came from somewhere deep and wounded. His forehead pressed against me, shoulders collapsing inward as if he had been holding himself upright on pure fear until now.
"I was so scared," he choked. "I thought— I thought he was dying. I thought I lost him."
My arms tightened around him automatically, one hand coming up to his head, fingers threading gently through his hair. I didn't tell him to be strong. I didn't tell him it would be okay.
I just held him.
"It's okay," I whispered, even though I wasn't sure it was. "You did good. You stayed. You called for help. You didn't leave him alone."
His grip tightened, fingers clutching me like I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
"I didn't know what to do," he sobbed. "He kept saying those things— I couldn't stop him."
"You weren't supposed to," I said softly, my own voice breaking. "You're not supposed to handle this alone."
Behind us, I felt more than saw Keifer watching. He didn't interrupt. Didn't say a word. Just stood there, eyes heavy, letting his little brother cry out everything he had been holding in.
Even Elara turned slightly away, giving us space, her expression unreadable but respectful—like she understood that this moment didn't belong to anyone else.
Keiren cried until his body exhausted itself, until the sobs slowed into quiet sniffles, until his grip loosened just a little. He didn't pull away though. Neither did I.