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One day. Just a single day ago, you sat at a familiar kitchen table with two familiar faces. No, that isn’t the right way to put it. Just yesterday, you sat at a loving kitchen table—your childhood kitchen table—and ate with the only family you had left alive. Now they’re gone, and you’re all alone.
Akso Hospital is an institution of unquestionably high quality. Every patient treated within its walls receives the best medical care, administered by professionals who are both highly trained and the most kind-hearted in their fields. As far as comfort goes in the medical context, it doesn’t get better than Akso.
But the problem with hospitals is that no amount of cleanliness or smiling faces will erase a person’s memory of why they’ve found themselves in such a place at all. Nothing would ever be able to do that for you.
When you finally wake up, you’re already in a private hospital room, mercifully far from the ER. For hours after waking, you simply stare at the ceiling. Your body floats somewhere between painfully aware of every place the sheets and blankets touch you and numb to the point of believing you, too, have died. Death wouldn’t make any sense, you think. You must still be alive because Grandma and Caleb would surely be by your side if the opposite were true. You don’t cry, you don't speak. You don’t bother moving at all. The walls are what move instead, closing in on you from your peripheral until you think you’ll be crushed, but with a blink, they return to normal.
You’re vaguely aware of the IV you’re hooked up to, the needle in your hand amid the coil of bandages running up your arm. After some time, a nurse enters to change the bag, jumping slightly when she notices your wide-open eyes.
“You’re awake,” she starts with a bright expression. “That’s good news. How are you feeling?”
You open your mouth but find no sound comes out. The nurse helps you sit up, raising a glass of water to your mouth that had been waiting on your bedside table. After taking a few sips, you find your voice. It’s raspy. You don’t recognize it at all.
“How long has it been?”
“You’ve been asleep since you were brought into the ER last night. It’s only been a little under 24 hours, though, so Dr. Zayne will be pleased with your quick recovery. He checked on you once already today, but there were no changes in your vitals since last night, so he thought it would be best to let you keep resting alone.”
There was that word again. Alone. It was the only word that, before this conversation, had had much significance to you since waking. It made your stomach twist.
“What happened?”
Until now, the nurse had been making herself busy, checking the monitors at your bedside and adjusting your pillows, but she stopped her work at your question and sat on the edge of the bed, facing you properly before she spoke.
“Last night, around 8:30, you were rushed into the emergency room. Someone had called after a massive explosion in their neighborhood, and when the emergency services showed up, there you were, knocked out right in front of the wreckage. When you were brought in, you were identified, and Dr. Zayne was paged after you were stabilized. It looked like you were pretty close to the impact, given the severity of your injuries. Thankfully, you were cleaned up without too much trouble, and you’ve been resting in here since then.”
Your heart flickers for just a moment before silencing. How kind of Dr. Zayne to take the time to treat you when he no doubt had duties in the cardiac surgery division. But, then again, you’re his patient. His job naturally extends into helping you, too, whether surgery is involved or not.
“Will he come back and check on me again?”
“Oh, of course. I’ll notify him that you’re up right away,” she says with a smile. “He has a surgery right now, but you’ll be the priority once it’s over.”
You sigh and close your eyes.
“I need to know something.”
The nurse was halfway to the door, but she stopped and turned around at the sound of your voice.
“Was there…was I the only person brought to the hospital?” You wince at your own question. Why are you asking that? Why are you making this nurse say it?
“I don’t have all of the details of the incident. You should speak to Dr. Zayne when he gets here.” With that, she gives you a nod and walks out of the room.
You’re woken later by three sharp knocks at the door. A glance at the clock on the wall says it’s been four hours since the nurse visited you. Not waiting for any sort of reply, Zayne opens the door, documents in hand. The untrained eye would see nothing but a doctor visiting his next patient, but your years of knowing Zayne pay off in these moments. The glint of relief in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth curve upwards ever so slightly do not go unnoticed.
“You’re finally awake.”
“The nurse said it hasn’t been that long.”
“Even so, you experienced enough head trauma to raise concerns. The lacerations and burns were of no help either. Your body will require significant recovery time.”
You grit your teeth and look off to the side.
“She said I’m recovering fast.”
Zayne sighs and pulls a nearby chair to your bedside. “You woke up remarkably soon, and your exterior injuries were easy to treat, but that isn’t all there is to your recovery. Expect it to be slow.”
Your head snaps to face him.
“A slow recovery? I don’t have time for that!”
“And why not? What requires your attention so urgently that you cannot take a few weeks to rest?”
You bite your lower lip, breathing deeply to steady your rising, unstable emotions.
“I can’t stay here. I need to get back to…” your voice falters.
“They didn’t make it.”
You blink.
Zayne takes off his glasses. He knows you, perhaps even better than you know yourself.
“I didn’t…”
“You didn’t need to finish your thought. I knew that it would be the first thing on your mind, and I don’t want you waiting for the truth to find you.”
You only nod twice, processing.
“Thanks.”
That was all you could say. Zayne has never been one to sugarcoat reality, a trait many found distasteful, but for once, you’re grateful for it. After all, you already knew the truth.
The Hunter’s Association wasted no time in contacting you. Less than a week since entering the hospital, and Captain Jenna was already here to see you.
“You’ll be fully compensated during your absence, of course. I already talked to your doctor—Dr. Zayne, I think—and he said you’ll be here at least a month.”
“Don’t listen to him. I’ll be back next week,” you scoff with a wave of your hand.
She nods curtly.
“Glad to see you’ve still got your fighting spirit. Your discharge won’t be for you to decide entirely on your own, though.” She stands at your bedside, arms crossed as she looks down at you. “Don’t forget that an injured hunter isn’t much use to the team. Even if you feel ready to come back, you might not actually be.”
Although Jenna’s words sound harsh, they’re laced with genuine concern. She may be speaking of your utility to the team, but you know your captain better than that. She looks out for her hunters.
Regardless, you don’t bother arguing. Looking down at yourself, you know she and Zayne are right, anyway. Both of your arms are still wrapped up in bandages to protect the damaged skin beneath, and though you haven’t looked in a mirror yet, you can feel bandages covering several other places from your head to your waist. More importantly, you haven’t yet tried to walk unassisted. Zayne says you can’t. He says that you tore a ligament when the force of the explosion knocked you back. Something about your knee twisting.
“I just wanted to come here to explain the next steps with the Association and let you know the team is eagerly awaiting your return—not that you should use that as an excuse to push yourself. We just want you to know you have support, okay?”
You nod. You don’t bother asking if everyone knows the details. To be honest, you’re not even sure if Jenna knows. Does she know who was in that house? Does she know what you were doing there? You won’t ask her.
Two weeks pass, and you finally feel like you’re becoming yourself again. You still can’t walk unassisted, and Zayne has informed you that you’ll be starting physical therapy soon, but the staff has commented on the return of your smile. It feels good to settle into a routine. That’s what it means to be at this hospital. Every day, every night, and everything in between is the same. Your days are filled with checkups, meals, and entertainment.
“Knock, knock,” Dr. Greyson’s voice calls from the doorway.
You look up from your book and smile.
“Hi.”
“You seem to be in better spirits every day,” he comments as he approaches your bedside. “Everyone is glad to see it.”
You shut your book and tilt your head.
“Where’s Dr. Zayne?”
“That’s actually what I’m here about. He’s waiting for you in the gym for your first physical therapy session.”
“Won’t I be seeing a physical therapist for that?” You chuckle. “Dr. Zayne’s amazing, but even he can’t be certified as every kind of medical professional.”
Greyson grins.
“You’re right about both. Dr. Zayne wanted to do a little work with you on the first day so he could make sure you’ll be alright when you officially get assigned to a therapist.” He leans in closer and glances behind him before speaking in a lower voice. “This isn’t exactly protocol, but Dr. Zayne thinks it will help you for some reason. I’m not sure why, myself, but everyone here trusts his decisions.”
You nod thoughtfully. “I’m sure his reasoning will make sense when I talk to him.”
With Greyson’s help, you get yourself on crutches and to Akso’s gym. It’s a beautiful facility with state-of-the-art machinery and tools. In a private room, Zayne waits for you. He smiles almost imperceptibly, but there’s tension in his gaze.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” he warns.
You grin and flex your arm a bit over the crutch, trying to appear in good spirits.
“It won’t be a problem for me, especially with Akso’s best doctor supervising.” Despite your confident words, you wonder if Zayne will really be any help in this department.
You shrug off your worries and get to work.
Only twenty minutes in, and you’re ready to quit. It hurts. Everything hurts so badly. You think of the sharp moves you execute flawlessly in combat and wonder how things could change so quickly.
“Almost there,” Zayne encourages softly. “Just a few more steps.”
You want to tune him out. The positivity does nothing for your helplessness, as your frustration with the exercise gives way to despair. The emotion piles on faster than you realize.
“Your knee will feel stiff for a while,” he continues. “If you perform the daily stretches ordered by the physical therapist, you will regain your full mobility in time.”
Your anger takes control.
“Shouldn’t I hear that from the therapist?” you snap. You regret it immediately.
Zayne doesn’t look hurt, only surprised. After a beat, his expression neutralizes once more. The slight furrow of his eyebrows is the only indication of his thoughts. He’s not insulted, you realize. He’s worried. None of this is right. How is everything falling apart so fast?
It’s too much for you. As your face twists from the agony of your mind and body combined, you abandon the walking exercise and let go of the bars beside you, staggering from the sudden lack of support for your injured leg.
Zayne’s reaction is immediate. He calls your name and lurches forward to catch you before you fall onto your knees. Strong, unwavering hands hold you up under your arms and against his chest.
“This is why I insisted that I do this with you,” he breathes.
You don’t move as you take in his words.
“What?”
He shifts onto the floor with you, maneuvering you carefully so your legs tuck safely to your side. He kneels in front of you, and his hands move from under your arms to rest in his lap. His fists clench.
The thought that he predicted this outcome both surprises you and ignites an emotion you can’t quite identify yet. It burns through your chest slowly and painfully. But it’s warm.
You’re too overwhelmed and angry to even look up at Zayne. To your surprise, he places a gentle hand over one of yours before speaking.
“You have to keep trying. The world won’t stop moving for a tragedy. If it helps, think about what your family would want.”
You turn your head away, casting your cold stare anywhere but at Zayne. You want to be bitter and sarcastic, but your next words sound more vulnerable than you expected.
“They’ve left me here. All alone.” That’s the truth. That’s why you’re like this, isn’t it? As a hunter, you’re no stranger to intense training. You’ve endured strained muscles, blisters, and bruises in the Academy, and your actual work comes with its own severe injuries. Therapy is challenging; there’s no denying the difficulty of the road ahead. But there’s something that’s going to be even harder and take even longer to heal. It’s going to be a slow recovery.
“You’re not alone.” Zayne’s voice cuts through your devastated spiral of realization. He isn’t one to offer sweet lies to comfort people. When he speaks, though it is generally brief, his words pierce the heart. Zayne’s statement prods at a dark corner of your mind, and the terrible thought you had suppressed for weeks finally strikes through you like lightning. Perhaps it had already occurred to you before, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider it properly until this moment.
You turn your head, locking eyes with him with the courage you know you don’t have anymore.
“Zayne, you’re all I have left.” You speak quietly, your voice laced with a desperation you hadn’t realized you felt. “You’re the only one who…knew who I used to be. Everyone in this world who was there back then has abandoned me, but you’re still- you’re the only one still here.” As you continue speaking, the intensity in your voice grows, breaking slightly on the word “still.”
Your emotions finally pour out—the wrath, the grief, and the loneliness you’ve kept trapped. You feel them physically overwhelm your body, seeping from the chest like an internal wound leaking into the rest of you.
Zayne holds your gaze, and you somehow feel supported by his eye contact. It’s like he’s holding you steady as you finally let go of everything you can’t hold onto any longer. He’s with you. He sees you.
You let out a heavy breath, vision blurred by long overdue tears, and you fall forward into Zayne’s arms. He catches you deftly, wrapping one arm around your body and using the other to support your head as you weep into his sleeve.
“You can’t leave me too. You’re the only one I have! Please…please promise me you’ll never leave.” Your words are broken up by your sobs. You know your tears are staining his white coat. Zayne’s voice is as quiet and solemn as ever, but his tight embrace makes you feel security that can only be described as feeling like home.
“I’m right here.”