Adrian's POV:
Jia fell asleep on my shoulder beside me. Vihaan was still staring at the ER gate like blinking would take his Ama away from him. Eric stood by his brother's side. Then, the memory of those cameras and voice recorders came into my mind. I opened my laptop slowly and added them to my laptop screen.
I started watching the recordings from Ama's house, the moments leading up to her attack. The first frame froze me in place. She was standing there, small yet unyielding, as if she already knew what was coming—but wasn't afraid. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and terrifyingly fearless for someone so alone.
Then, the door burst open. One unknown man entered, flanked by nearly twenty others. The atmosphere shifted immediately. I played the footage with audio, straining to catch every word. They demanded some proof—papers Ama had collected against him. And then the name came up. She had visited his house—the man's house—along with Vihaan and… Jia. My mind raced. Jia had never told me anything about this man.
The next moment made my stomach turn. The man forced Ama to drink something. From the way she writhed and gagged, I knew immediately—it was Ricin. Her hands trembled but she didn't break. Then his men scattered through the house, grabbing papers and evidence. After collecting them, the man stepped forward and stabbed Ama brutally. She barely whispered, talking about her parents' murder, a thread connecting this nightmare to her past.
A sick chill ran down my spine. I remembered what Jia had told me about her parents—their deaths, the betrayal, the blood that had tainted her childhood. And now, I wondered in horror: was this the same man who had killed them?
Then another figure appeared in the footage. His back was familiar, posture slightly hesitant. Ama called him… Dad. My heart thudded violently. I forced myself to look away, but curiosity and fear anchored me. The man turned. Slowly, deliberately. And my blood ran cold. It was him. Jia's father.
Was he involved in Ama's parents' murder? Had he betrayed everything they ever stood for?
I leaned back, hands trembling. The world felt heavier, darker. Nothing made sense anymore. Every trust I'd held, every assumption about family and loyalty—shattered in an instant. And yet, there on the screen, Ama's defiance, her courage, her sheer will to survive… it burned brighter than the horror surrounding her.
I paused the recording and shut the laptop off. Unable to watch further, I put the camera and recorder inside the bag, safely.
It's been almost twenty-four hours since Amara was admitted, and the surgery is still ongoing. The clock feels cruel, every minute stretching into an hour. Jia's mother was out of town, but the moment she heard what happened, she rushed back, pale and trembling.
Finally, the doors opened, and the doctors stepped out. We all stood at once, desperate for something—anything—to hold on to. But their faces told the story before their words did.
"Everything that could be done has been done," one of them said quietly. "Now… we wait. She has to regain consciousness on her own."
That single word—wait—felt heavier than anything else. Because waiting meant hope, but also fear. And for the first time in a long while, I wasn't sure which one was winning inside me.
"The poison is now controlled," the doctor said, his voice steady but his eyes anything but calm. "But it has already spread throughout her system. If she regains consciousness within the next twenty-four hours, then—and only then—can we say she's safe. Otherwise…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
The silence that followed felt like a verdict. Jia's mother covered her mouth, trying to hold back a sob. Jia just stood there—frozen—her eyes wide and empty. Eric turned his face away, clenching his fists, while Vihaan… he didn't move at all. His gaze was fixed somewhere past the doctor, somewhere beyond all of us.
The hallway seemed to shrink around us, the hum of machines and the faint smell of antiseptic pressing against my chest. Twenty-four hours. That's all we had—and it already felt like time was slipping away before it even began.
Even as the doctor's words echoed in my head—twenty-four hours—another thought began to burn through me. The doubt about Jia's father. The way his name had slipped out of that recording like a crack in the floor.
My eyes scanned the corridor until I found him. He was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, phone pressed tightly to his ear. His voice was low, careful, but urgency trembled under it.
"I'm trying, Liam, I'm trying. They haven't said she's safe yet. We still have twenty-four hours to make our move."
I froze. My pulse roared in my ears. Liam. The name from the recording. The man who had poisoned and stabbed Ama.
I took a few slow steps closer, pretending to glance at the vending machine. The other side of the call was just a faint crackle, but his words were sharp, deliberate, and clear enough to slice through the noise of the hallway.
"I know, I know. I'm trying. There are too many people here—those Mickelson brothers, they have their eyes set on her. I need more time."
My stomach twisted. They weren't waiting to save Ama. They were waiting for her to die. His tone was cold, strategic—like a man discussing a chess piece, not a girl fighting for her life.
I wanted to confront him right then, to drag him into the light, but my body wouldn't move. All I could do was stand there, listening, while my mind screamed.
I wanted to tell Vihaan everything—every word I'd just overheard, every truth that clawed inside my chest—but one look at him, and I knew he couldn't take another blow. He was already breaking in silence, his soul torn between guilt and fear.
And Jia… she was already drowning in it. The guilt of not saving her sister was eating her alive; knowing that her own father was behind all of this would crush whatever little strength she had left.
My mind was a storm—half screaming to expose him, half urging patience—but one thing rang clear through all the noise: I have to keep Amara safe. Whatever it takes.
I moved toward Eric, who was standing a few feet away from Vihaan, trying to stay composed but his young eyes couldn't hide the fear.
"Eric," I called softly.
He turned immediately, his expression hopeful for any good news I could offer—but I had none.
"I was saying…" I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, "we need to make sure Amara isn't left alone at any point. She was attacked once—there's no guarantee they won't try again."
Eric frowned slightly, catching the seriousness in my tone.
"What do you mean? You think they'll come here?"
"I don't know," I said quietly, lowering my voice. "But it's better we don't take chances. There should always be at least two people near her—always. Not just one. I'll manage the shifts if needed."
Eric nodded, glancing at his brother and then toward the ICU doors. "Yeah… yeah, you're right. She's not safe yet."
I looked at him, trying to mask the fear crawling up my spine. Because I knew this wasn't paranoia. It was a warning.
He, even being a young kid, is really mature and understanding. The way he was shielding his brother was proof of how strong he is on the inside.