Page 16 of Never Quite Gone

I caught Sofia's arm as she turned to follow. “This isn't just about him,” I murmured, watching her reaction. “You feel it too, don't you?”

She went still as stone, her dark eyes showing confusion at her own certainty.

Through the ER doors, I watched Eli directing his trauma team like a general commanding troops. Even without his memories, he was exactly who he'd always been - healer, protector, the soul that had called to mine across fucking centuries. But now those carefully built walls were starting to crack, and I couldn't tell if the truth would save him or shatter him completely.

“Quite the dramatic scene.” Vale's voice oozed from the shadows like poison. “One might almost believe you actually care about our Dr. Monroe.”

I turned slowly, centuries of practice keeping my face blank despite the fury building in my chest. “Careful, Vale. You're pulling at threads you don't understand.”

“Don't I?” His smile never touched his snake eyes. “Perhaps I understand more than you think, Mr. Rothschild. Perhaps we all do.”

The threat hung clear as a noose, but something darker lurked under it - something older than hospital politics, deeper than professional rivalry. Vale might not fully remember his role in our ancient tragedy, but his soul did. And that made him dangerous as a loaded gun.

I watched him slither away, his footsteps echoing with memories of other times, other confrontations. The letters in my briefcase burned like evidence at a crime scene, each yellowed page a key to unlocking memories better left buried.

But it was too late to play it safe. The past was unraveling whether we were ready or not. All I could do was try to guide the awakening, try to shield Eli from the full force of remembering while making sure he remembered enough to survive what was coming.

It had always been about him. Every choice, every sacrifice, every lifetime of searching. And this time, I wouldn't let the past destroy our future.

Even if that meant facing the darkest parts of our shared history. Even if that meant making Vale remember why he'd tried so hard to forget. Even if that meant risking everything all over again.

For Eli, it was worth any price. It always had been.

CHAPTER 5

Impossible Things

The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry wasps in the on-call room while I picked apart my reflection like a case study. Dark circles that looked like bruises under my eyes. Right hand doing its best impression of a fault line. Heart hammering like I'd just run a code.

All perfectly logical shit for a trauma surgeon running on fumes and caffeine. Nothing to do with blue eyes that seemed to know every secret I'd ever tried to bury.

I splashed cold water on my face, letting the shock kick my brain back into doctor mode. The rational part of me - the part that had dragged me through med school, through losing Michael, through every fucking curveball life had thrown - started its familiar diagnostic dance:

Sleep: 4 hours in 36, basically running on spite and coffee.

Stress: Through the roof thanks to Vale's vulture act.

Trauma: Standard grief with a side of professional paranoia.

The door creaked like a B-horror movie as Sofia stepped in, armed with actual coffee instead of the burned battery acid the hospital called caffeine. Steam curled up from the cups like question marks.

Behind her serious expression, I caught something else - worrymixed with determination. She'd worn that same look when she found me in the ER after Michael's accident, still wearing his blood on my scrubs, refusing to believe what the monitors were telling me.

The coffee's warmth couldn't touch the ice forming in my chest whenever Alex's face flashed through my mind. Those eyes that seemed to see straight through six years of carefully constructed walls, straight to something I couldn't - wouldn't - name.

My wedding ring caught the shitty fluorescent light as I lifted the cup, the metal cool and solid against my skin. An anchor to reality. To what I knew was real. To what made sense.

Even if nothing made sense anymore.

Both our pagers screamed like banshees:

TRAUMA ALERT - MULTIPLE CASUALTIES - ETA 5 MIN.

Thank god. Work was safe. Work made sense. Work didn't come with impossible blue eyes and memories that couldn't exist.

“Incoming!” A nurse's voice cut through my spiral. “Two critical, three walking wounded. Construction site collapse.”

The words 'construction site' hit like a sucker punch, flashing me back to Michael's accident for half a second before I shoved it down. Not now. Not here.

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