Amanda hadn't slept.
The pale blue light of early morning streamed through the tall windows of her penthouse, but it felt more like a prison cell than a place of rest. The air was still heavy with the remnants of last night—thick with William's voice, Archie's haunted eyes, and the final echo of Mildred Connor's threat:
"What if remembering Archie ruins him?"
But Amanda knew better now.
She slipped into a dark coat and pulled her hair back into a low knot. No makeup. No mask. Just resolve.
The hospital records.
Amanda had spent hours scanning her old emails, old files—anything from the months following William's accident. She had always known the story didn't add up. But back then, she'd chosen not to ask questions. It was easier to be complicit when you believed it was all for love. Or power.
Now? She needed the truth.
The private hospital, Brookhaven, was discreet by design—a place where reputation could be treated as thoroughly as the body. Getting access to the archives wouldn't be easy.
But Amanda had connections. And leverage.
The receptionist smiled politely as Amanda walked in, but the moment she gave her name, the air shifted. A call was made. A quiet exchange behind the desk.
Then came the waiting.
Finally, a thin woman in a gray blazer approached, a clipboard in hand. "Ms. Wynn. I understand you're inquiring about the medical records of a... William Connor?"
Amanda nodded. "Yes. From three years ago. Post-accident care and neurological therapy. I believe the case was... sealed under discretion."
The woman's eyes flickered. "I'm afraid those files are protected under a privacy agreement, renewed annually by Mr. and Mrs. Connor."
Amanda didn't flinch. She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper—a legal proxy, signed the previous day by William himself. "Then I believe this authorizes me."
The woman's expression faltered.
Checkmate.
Within twenty minutes, Amanda was led to a narrow room filled with patient files—dusty, overstuffed folders categorized not by names, but by case numbers. Discretion was key. Anonymity, priceless.
She scanned the numbers until she found it.
W. Connor — Case #38472
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the file. The scent of old paper and antiseptic filled her nose. Line after line of doctor's notes, reports, prescriptions.
But it was the psychologist's entry that made her stomach turn.
Patient displays intense emotional fixation onanother teenager male, name redacted. Repeatedmention of "running away together," "being safe," and "theywon't find us." Strong delusional paranoia mixed with attachmenttrauma.
Recommendation: medical intervention and memorysuppression via regulated sedation therapy. Parents approved fulltreatment.
Amanda blinked. Her throat went dry.
They drugged him on purpose. They signed for it. Suppressed his memories—not just of Archie, but of everything they didn't want him to remember.
She flipped to the next page.
There was a list of prescriptions—names Amanda recognized. A note scrawled in the margin:
High dosage triggered minor cardiac arrhythmia. Recommend cessation.
Then underlined:
If patient begins to recall, notify primary contact immediately.
The contact listed?
Mildred Connor.
Amanda's blood chilled. This wasn't protection. This was erasure.
She took photos of every page, her phone trembling in her hands. This wasn't just family drama anymore. It was abuse. Criminal cover-up.
And then something else caught her eye—tucked behind a stapled psychiatric report. A copy of a security log from the night of the accident. One entry was highlighted in yellow.
Unauthorized entry – Emergency Room – Maleteenager brought in unconscious. Not logged in under admittedpatients. Accompanied by unknown minor, later removed by privatesecurity.
Amanda's breath stopped.
That was Archie. He had been there. They removed him before he could be documented.
The file folder slipped from her lap. Papers fluttered to the ground.
This went deeper than she thought.
Suddenly, the door opened behind her.
Amanda jumped.
The woman from earlier stood in the doorway, her expression tight. "Ms. Wynn, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Now."
Amanda gathered the documents as quickly as she could, stuffing them into her bag. "Why?"
"There's been a call from Mr. Gregory Connor's office. He says you're no longer authorized."
Amanda paused in the doorway. "That's funny," she said, turning slowly, "because I just discovered that he authorized illegal sedation of his own son. You should tell him I said hello."
She walked out without waiting for a response.
-
That night, Amanda met Anne at a dim café near campus. The mood was tense.
Amanda slid her phone across the table. "I have everything. And it's worse than we thought."
Anne read in silence. Her face paled.
"This isn't just corruption," she whispered. "It's violence."
"They drugged him," Amanda said, voice hard. "And they almost killed Archie."
Anne looked up, her jaw clenched. "What do we do?"
Amanda took a breath. "We tell them. William and Archie. Everything. And then we burn this house of lies to the ground."
-
Meanwhile, at Archie's dorm, he and William lay side by side on the floor, a blanket thrown over them, their arms touching, fingers lazily entwined.
"I can't believe how peaceful it is," William murmured. "Like we're not at war with the world."
Archie turned his head toward him. "For once... let's just stay in this moment."
William smiled faintly. "Deal."
But as he closed his eyes, somewhere in the back of his mind, something flickered again.
A scream.
Shattered glass.
A hand pulling him away from the wreckage.
It wasn't over.
Not yet.