The hospital entrance was always loud.
Footsteps. Voices. Doors sliding open and shut. The sound of life continuing for people who had somewhere else to be.
Misty stood just inside the glass doors, wrapped in a thin blanket that did nothing to make her feel covered. It was supposed to be temporary. Just until the paperwork was done. Just until the doctor returned.
Temporary had become a familiar lie.
She could feel eyes on her before she saw them.
Not curiosity.Recognition.
Whispers moved faster than footsteps.
"That's her.""From the video.""Did you see—""No, but I heard—"
The words didn't need to finish themselves anymore. They never did.
She lowered her head instinctively, as if that might erase the way people leaned closer when they recognized her face. Phones appeared, lifted with practiced ease. Not hidden. Not ashamed.
Documenting.
A nurse passed by and slowed — just a little — her gaze lingering longer than professionalism allowed. Her mouth twitched, the hint of a smile forming before she turned away.
Misty's fingers tightened in the blanket.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
That had stopped working.
Luna arrived like she owned the building.
Her heels clicked sharply against the polished floor, cutting through the noise with authority. People noticed her immediately — the way they always did — stepping aside without being asked.
She stopped directly in front of Misty.
"Well," Luna said lightly, her voice carrying just enough to be heard. "They really let you come out like this?"
Misty didn't look up.
Luna leaned closer anyway.
"Don't hide," she murmured. "Everyone already knows."
A doctor approached, adjusting his coat as if the moment were routine. He didn't acknowledge Misty at first. His eyes went to Luna.
"There's been a delay," he said calmly. "But she's stable."
Stable.
As if that word still meant something.
Luna smiled. "Good. I'd hate for her to miss this."
Misty finally lifted her eyes.
"Please," she whispered. The word barely existed when it left her mouth. "I just want to go back."
The doctor glanced at her then — briefly — the way someone looks at a chart they've already memorized.
"You should be grateful," he said flatly. "Not everyone gets this much attention."
A few people nearby laughed.
Not loudly.Comfortably.
Misty's face burned.
Luna straightened, raising her voice slightly. "You see? Even the doctors agree. You're… memorable."
She circled Misty slowly, inspecting her like an exhibit. "Do you know how many people ask about you now? How many recognize you?"
Misty's knees weakened.
Someone bumped into her shoulder and didn't apologize.
A security guard stood near the doors, watching — not intervening. Just observing. His eyes flicked to Luna once, then away.
Permission didn't need to be spoken.
Luna stopped directly in front of her.
"Look at them," she said softly. "They're not angry. They're not shocked."
Her smile sharpened.
"They're entertained."
A man nearby openly stared, his gaze crawling over Misty without restraint. When their eyes met, he didn't look away.
He smirked.
Misty flinched back.
The doctor sighed, as if inconvenienced. "Control yourself," he said, not unkindly. "People notice when you make a scene."
"I'm not—" Misty started.
"Enough," Luna interrupted. "She's emotional."
She placed a hand on Misty's shoulder. Not gentle. Not rough.
Possessive.
"You don't want to embarrass yourself further, do you?"
The words hit harder than a slap.
Misty's breathing turned shallow. The space felt smaller. Louder. Like the walls were inching closer, squeezing her into something easier to observe.
Another nurse walked past and whispered something to her colleague. They both glanced back, eyes flicking over Misty's bare feet, the blanket, her posture.
Judgment dressed as curiosity.
Misty's vision blurred.
She remembered a time when hospital entrances meant hope. When waiting rooms meant holding hands. When doctors looked at her like a person.
That version of her felt unreal now.
Luna leaned close again. "You see," she whispered, "this is what happens when your story stops belonging to you."
The doctor checked his watch. "We should move her."
"Here is fine," Luna replied smoothly.
Misty's heart pounded.
"No," she whispered again. "Please. Not here."
Luna tilted her head, mockingly thoughtful. "Why not? This is where everyone passes through."
She gestured around them.
"This is where people see."
The doors slid open as another wave of visitors entered. Conversations stalled mid-sentence. Faces turned.
Recognition spread.
Misty felt herself folding inward, trying to become smaller, thinner, less visible.
It didn't work.
Someone raised a phone openly now, angling it for a clearer shot.
The doctor didn't stop them.
Instead, he said quietly, "Let her be. She's used to it."
Used to it.
Misty's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Luna's hand tightened on her shoulder.
"See?" she murmured. "Even now, you're quiet."
Her voice dropped, cruel and satisfied.
"You're learning."
The world tilted slightly.
Misty swayed, her grip on the blanket loosening as her strength drained. Luna steadied her — not out of concern, but control.
"Careful," Luna said loudly. "If you fall, people will talk."
A few snickers followed.
Misty closed her eyes.
Inside her chest, something cracked — not loudly, not cleanly — but enough that she felt it spread.
This wasn't pain anymore.
It was instruction.
Stand still.Be watched.Don't resist.
By the time the doctor finally gestured for a wheelchair, the crowd had already absorbed its fill.
Misty didn't remember being seated.
She only remembered the doors opening again — and the way Luna walked beside her, smiling at the people who stared.
As if this were exactly how it was meant to be.
And somewhere behind the glass, someone watched her leave — not with curiosity, but with intent.
Not finished.