Mira woke before the ward lights changed. She could tell by the rhythm of the building — the soft scrape of night shoes giving way to day soles, the hum of the machines shifting into a steadier register. She pressed her hand to her chest, felt the familiar weight there, and counted her breaths.
Patel came in first. She moved briskly, but not unkindly. "Morning wash, Mira. Let's get you settled before breakfast."
Mira sat when asked, moved when guided, let her hair be brushed. She answered questions with yes or no. She noticed how Patel always narrated what she was about to do before she touched her, and she appreciated it. But she also reminded herself: kindness was not the same as loyalty. She stored the detail but did not trust it.
By the time the tea trolley rattled past, Mira was dressed, hair brushed, cardigan over her shoulders. She held the cup carefully. Her vision gave her only blurs, but she could still map the ward by sound: the shuffle of curtains, the clink of trays, the soft murmur of nurses reporting to each other.
The television was on low volume. The news anchor's voice carried into the ward.
"Police are investigating the death of a private physician. The body of Doctor Ian Merrow was discovered late last night in the central district. Authorities are treating the death as suspicious. The victim was known for his work with long-term care patients."
Mira's breath caught. Doctor Merrow. She knew the name. It had been on prescription slips she couldn't read.
The anchor went on. "Investigators are examining allegations of financial exploitation. No arrests have been made. Officials declined to confirm whether documents were taken from the scene."
Mira put her cup down very carefully. Her mind began stacking questions. Doctor Merrow. Exploitation. Dead.
The news moved on. "Severe storms caused flash flooding across several towns overnight. Lightning strikes led to power outages in three counties. And astronomers confirm a meteor fragment will pass closer to Earth than first projected. Officials stress there is no danger to the public."
The screen showed blurry phone clips of lightning cutting the sky and water rushing through streets. People's voices shouted in the background. Mira turned her face toward the sound but said nothing.
Harland arrived soon after. His shoes clicked, his voice smooth. "Good morning, Mira."
"Doctor."
"You slept?"
"Enough."
He sat with a folder in his lap. "Your numbers are stable. That's good news. We'll keep you one more night. After that, discharge."
"With caretakers."
"Yes," Harland said, pleased with himself. "Selina and Kael. They'll make sure you aren't at risk again."
"Who pays them?" Mira asked.
"The foundation." He said it quickly, too quickly. "That's not your concern."
"It is my concern if strangers hold my keys."
Harland smiled, the way he always did when he wanted to end a subject. "The agency is reliable. Miss Vale comes highly recommended."
Mira folded her hands. "Doctor Merrow is dead."
"Yes," Harland said, his voice tighter now. "Unfortunate. But it has nothing to do with you."
"He was my physician."
"He was a consultant," Harland corrected. "Not your primary doctor. His affairs won't affect your care."
Mira listened to his tone, not his words. He was more rattled than he wanted her to believe. She stored that away.
"I want copies of my records," she said.
"You'll get what's appropriate."
"All of them," she said again.
He rose. "We'll discuss it after discharge. Rest now, Mira. Don't let the news unsettle you."
When he left, she whispered to herself, "Too late."
Nora arrived mid-morning. Her perfume came first, then her voice. "Look at you, sitting up already. You're tougher than they think."
"Nora," Mira said, relief in her tone.
"I brought you a sausage roll. Still warm. Don't tell Patel." She set the bag on Mira's tray. "I swear the food here is designed to make you give up hope."
Mira smiled faintly. "Thank you."
Nora sat, her chair creaking. "You heard the news?"
"Doctor Merrow," Mira said.
"Yes. I knew that man was trouble. Always had shifty eyes. People say he bled patients dry. I'm not shocked someone decided they'd had enough."
Mira stayed quiet.
Nora leaned closer. "You should be careful with your money, love. These doctors, these agencies, they take advantage. If you want, I can look over your bills when you're home. Make sure everything's straight."
"That's kind," Mira said softly. "I'll manage."
Nora forced a laugh. "Stubborn. I like that. But don't be afraid to lean on me. I'm right next door."
"I know."
"Good. Because you'll have strangers in your house soon. These caretakers. You let me know if they overstep."
"I will," Mira said. She meant it. She did trust Nora, because Nora was the only one who felt uncomplicated.
Nora stayed for half an hour, filling the air with gossip about the neighbors, the price of bread, and a cat that refused to come inside during the storm. Mira listened, grateful for the distraction.
When Nora left, she squeezed Mira's hand. "Don't worry, love. You've got me."
Mira whispered, "Thank you."
And she meant it.
Selina and Kael arrived in the afternoon. The curtain pulled back and Mira felt the shift instantly. Selina's warm voice entered first. "Good afternoon, Mira. How are you?"
"Tired," Mira admitted.
"We'll be brief." Selina pulled the chair closer. "I want to go over how tomorrow will work. We'll accompany you home, help you settle, and go through your routine. You decide the pace."
Mira nodded. "Thank you."
Kael stood silent at the foot of the bed. His presence pressed into the air like a weight. Mira tilted her head toward him. "And you?"
"I keep watch," Kael said. His tone was flat, final.
"Over me?"
"Over everything," he said.
Patel came in with a chart. She frowned when she saw them but said nothing. She checked Mira's pulse, adjusted the line, and left quickly.
Selina said lightly, "She doesn't like us."
"She doesn't know you," Mira replied.
"And you do?"
"Not yet."
Selina smiled faintly. "You will."
That night, Harland sat in his office with Ms. Troy. His smile was gone.
"The caretakers are a problem," he said. "The girl listens to them too much. They'll start asking questions. If they dig, they'll find out about the transfers. About Merrow. About us."
Troy folded her arms. "What do you suggest?"
"We control her another way. We use someone she already trusts."
"Who?"
"Nora Clegg," Harland said. "She's in and out of the flat. She's eager. She'll do it if we make it worth her while."
"And the caretakers?" Troy asked.
Harland's voice turned cold. "If they interfere, we remove them. Quietly."
Later that evening, after the ward settled into its night rhythm, Mira lay listening to the machines. She whispered into the dark, "I trust Nora." She wanted it to be true.
She let herself drift toward sleep.
But Nora was not sleeping.
Across town, she stood in front of Mira's flat with a small ring of keys in her hand. She looked around, checked the street, then slipped one into the lock. The door opened without resistance.
Inside, the flat smelled faintly of tea and dust. Nora closed the door behind her. She moved quietly, too quietly for someone who claimed to be a friend. She went to the drawers in the sitting room, opened one, then another. She ran her fingers over papers, frowned at the writing, slipped a folded bill into her pocket.
In the bedroom, she opened the wardrobe, checked the pockets of jackets, found a necklace in a box, and tucked it into her bag. She paused at the bedside table, opened the drawer, and scanned the pill organizer. She smirked, closed it again, and moved on.
When she left, she locked the door carefully. She walked down the street like nothing had happened.