Page 121 of Hide From Me

02-06-2026

Seaborn Medbay

I stare at the ceiling, just as I have for the past nine days, which in case you didn’t know is two hundred and sixteen hours, or for a better form of torture; twelve thousand nine hundred and sixty minutes. How many seconds would that be? Seven hundred seventy-seven thousand six hundred.

Fuck’s sake, I’m losing my mind letting the silence creep over me like frostbite—slow, numbing, and inevitable. The sterile white panels blur at the edges of my vision, my eyes burning from the effort of staying awake, of stayingpresent. Each breath feels like it’s scraping glass down my throat—sharp and hollow—echoing in a chest that feels both too empty and too full all at once.

The beeping of the heart monitor ticks away like a metronome set to the wrong tempo—too slow, too steady, as if it’s mocking the storm inside me. I keep waiting for the punchline; for someone to burst in, rip the wires from my skin, and tell me the mission isn’t over—that I never made it back. That this is some morphine-soaked fantasy stitched together by a dying brain trying to make sense of its final moments.

I close my eyes, just for a second, and it all comes flooding back. The haze of it all: the gunfire, the grit of concrete against my palms, the coppery tang of blood filling my mouth. Her face through the smoke, framed by chaos, right before everything went black.

Right before the world slipped out from under me.

And thatlook—God, that look she gave me. It was as if she didn’t know me at all, as if I were a stranger wearing my own skin like a mask.

That’s the part that cuts the deepest. Not the wounds or the scars I will add to my collection, but that look. In that breathless moment, I saw the distance between us widen, I noticed her heart pulling back, and I realized what it cost her to remain standing in front of me.

A soft noise pulls me out of my spiral—a barely-there shift to my left, so small that I almost convince myself I imagined it. My eyes snap open, alert and ready, with my throat already working up a warning in case it’s another medic, another soldier, or another well-meaning ghost come to haunt me.

But it’s not.

It’sher.

Curled up in a chair in the far corner, trying to disappear into it. Her knees are drawn up, sleeves pulled over her hands, and her face is half-shadowed by the weak light of the med bay. She looks so small, so tired, so breakable in a way that makes my chest ache worse than any injury.

I freeze. My mind stutters, caught between relief and disbelief. I had convinced myself she was gone, that she wouldn’t return. The way she looked at me before I blacked out felt final—a verdict, not just a moment.

But she’shere.

Quiet. Still. It's as if she’s holding herself together with sheer force of will.

I try to speak, but no sound comes out at first. I don’t know if I should break the fragile balance of this moment—or if I’m even allowed to.

She speaks before I can.

“You're awake,” she says, her voice soft and cracked at the edges, as if she hasn't used it in days. It sounds painful for her to say it.

“I thought I was alone,” I murmur, because that’s how it felt—like I had been abandoned in the dark.

She shrugs faintly, her eyes lowered, focused on some invisible point between us. I wish she’d look at me.

Correction: I wish she'dseeme.

“You were. Mostly.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.

She shifts, as if debating whether to tell me the truth. “Long enough to hear you crying in your sleep.”

The words hit me like a gut punch, and I wince, instinctively turning my face away.

“And long enough,” she adds quietly, “to realize I don’t recognize you right now.”

That cuts deeper—so much deeper.

My fingers curl into the blanket, gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. My body protests the movement, pain flaring sharp and hot through my shoulder and leg, but none of it compares to the burn in my chest. I try to sit up straighter anyway.

“I’m still me,” I say, soft, like maybe if I whisper it, it’ll make the truth in my voice all the more apparent.

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