Page 108 of Hospital for Immortal Creatures

“Go with her,” Mikhail urged Stella.

She did as she was told, leading Amelia to the bathroom and helping her clean up.

When they were done, Mikhail waited for them on the other side of the door.

“She needs a breath of fresh air and she’ll be fine,” Stella said. “Go out for a walk with her. I’ll clean up here.”

“I’ll clean!” Amelia protested, staring at her masterpiece under the table.

“It’s all right, dear. I’ll take care of it,” Stella assured her.

Before she could argue again, Mikhail took her hand. “Let’s go.” His tone didn’t allow for any objections.

They stopped by her room to grab a jacket. To her surprise, a long, padded coat had appeared in her new wardrobe, along with some other clothes. They must have been delivered while they were having dinner.

She put on the coat and followed Mikhail to the lobby. He unlocked the door by the lift, leading her up the spiral staircase.

“Are we going to the rooftop?” she asked.

“The tower.” Mikhail’s voice echoed in the narrow space.

When the stairs finally widened into a room with broad, barred windows, she realised they had reached their destination. The four slanted walls converged at a sharp angle, forming the tower.

“What do you use this space for?” Amelia asked, approaching one of the windows.

The view was breathtaking. The forest was nothing more than thick darkness, spreading out for miles. With sunrise, the colours would be revealed, but the night provided a blanket of protection. The city lights, the only distinguishable feature at the foot of the mountain, shone like a beacon, bathed in never-ending spotlight.

How many times had she strolled through the streets of Sofia, oblivious to the real world she lived in? And somewhere out there were still millions of people, equally unaware…

Mikhail came to stand next to her. “I don’t use it for anything. I just like the view.”

His presence was stronger than ever, his body radiating so much heat that the space around her warmed with his approach. With the vast mountain before her, her old life faded and everything on the other side of the glass turned foreign to her. She would never again be one of the millions of people, even if she lived among them.

“Do you come here often?” she asked.

“Yes. Every time I need to think.” His attention was set on her. “Why were you ill earlier?”

Shame made her wince once more. As a student of medicine, she was used to seeing ill people, covered with and choking on their bodily fluids. Some of her classmates would faint in the OR from exhaustion. A body’s natural response to disease might be unpleasant, but it was nothing to be ashamed of.

Her vomiting, however, wasn’t due to a disease. “I may have overdone the wine,” she admitted. She had never in her life allowed herself to drink too much alcohol. Why did she have to do it now and humiliate herself in front of Mikhail, of all people?

“Are you sure?” His concerned expression didn’t alleviate her embarrassment; if anything, it made her feel even more self-conscious.

“Yes. I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”

“So, it wasn’t caused by panic?”

The question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been getting panic attacks ever since your parents died,” he said in a soft voice. “I did a little digging on you after I met you in Sofia that day.”

Amelia wasn’t sure what to think. It was unsettling that someone besides her and Doctor Andonov knew about her panic attacks. She had always viewed these physiological reactions as a sign of weakness. Human, but a weakness, nonetheless. She felt guilty and weak-minded for having them. During her studies and later her work in the hospital, she’d witnessed patients face unimaginable hardships – incurable diseases, loss of limbs or organs, and devastating goodbyes to loved ones. Yet, many found the strength to persevere and move forward.

But her? No matter how hard she tried to suppress the suffering and carry on, her body often betrayed her. It would start with a slight tremor in her hands, then spread through her entire body, making it hard to breathe. Sometimes it manifested as a sharp pain in her stomach; other times, it was nausea and vomiting. The most humiliating episode occurred in front of her colleagues—just once—but it was enough to convince her that it was time to talk to a specialist.Her diagnosis? Panic disorder caused by post-traumatic stress. She had been determined to overcome it and she had succeeded. Until recently.

“It wasn’t a panic attack tonight.” Impatient to change the subject, she asked, “So, you did a little digging and you know everything about me?”

“You can’t know everything there is to know about someone, but I learnt a lot about you as I tried to figure out if you had a connection with the immortal species,” Mikhail replied.

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