The sterile whiteness of the hospital room pressed in on Amadeo from all sides. He stirred, a dull ache radiating from his leg, arm, and head, where tight bandages constricted him like prison chains. A faint throbbing pulsed behind his temples, and his body felt heavy, as though weighed down by the gravity of an unseen force.
His eyelids fluttered open, but the brightness of the room made him wince. For a moment, his gaze wandered aimlessly—the white ceiling tiles, the soft hum of a heart monitor, the faint antiseptic scent that lingered in the air. His mind was foggy, struggling to grasp the situation. Then, like a dam breaking, everything came rushing back.
The crash. The train. The masked man.
"Elle!" he gasped, bolting upright so suddenly that his body screamed in protest. Pain shot through his leg and arm, but he hardly noticed. Gripping his head with both hands, Amadeo clutched at the fragments of memory flooding his mind. Flashbacks assaulted him—Elle's pale face, the burning car, the haunting phrase: "The prey survived."
"Oh, you're awake?" came a calm voice nearby. Amadeo's bloodshot eyes flicked toward the nurse standing by his bedside, holding a clipboard. "Don't move. You should just—"
"Where am I?" Amadeo's hoarse voice cut through the nurse's reassurance like a blade. His gaze was wild, a mix of desperation and determination. "How did I get here?"
The nurse blinked, slightly startled, but maintained her composure. "You had an accident," she explained. "The police and emergency crew brought you in—"
"Which hospital is this?" Amadeo interrupted again, his tone sharp and urgent.
The nurse hesitated for a brief moment. "You're at—" She hadn't even finished when Amadeo ripped off the thin blanket covering him and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Pain flared through his body, but he pushed it aside. He stood, teetering slightly, his breathing ragged.
"Hey, you can't—" the nurse began, alarmed, but Amadeo was already halfway to the door, his hospital gown fluttering behind him. She hurried to call for help as Amadeo stumbled into the hallway.
Amadeo's pulse thundered in his ears as he staggered through the hospital, his only thought fixated on Elle. She's here. She has to be here. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he forced them to keep moving. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn't stop.
Just outside his room, a police officer and a doctor were deep in conversation. The officer turned his head just in time to see Amadeo dart past them. "Hey! Stop him!" the officer barked, and the two men rushed after him.
Amadeo gritted his teeth as he felt hands grab at his shoulders, trying to hold him back. "Let me go!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please, Elle is in danger! She's in this hospital! They're going to kill her!"
The officer and doctor exchanged a concerned glance as Amadeo thrashed weakly against their grip. "Please, I beg of you!" he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "She needs me. You have to let me go!"
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The nurse, the officer, and the doctor looked at one another, their expressions shifting from skepticism to cautious concern. Finally, the officer nodded.
"Where is her room?" he asked. "Tell us, and we'll take you there."
Supported by the doctor and police, Amadeo half-limped, half-ran toward the room he remembered as Elle's. His heart pounded louder with every step, hope and dread warring in his chest. When they arrived, he threw the door open, his eyes scanning the room frantically.
But the bed was occupied by someone else—a new patient lying quietly, startled by Amadeo's sudden entrance.
"Where is she?" Amadeo shouted, rushing to the patient. Gripping their shoulders, he shook them aggressively. "Where did you hide her? What do you want?!"
"Amadeo!" the officer barked, pulling him back. "Calm down!"
"She's not here!" Amadeo cried, his voice breaking. "She has to be here!"
The officer motioned for the hospital staff, who quickly searched the records. A nurse hesitantly approached them, holding a clipboard. "Miss Elle Fontaine?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "She left yesterday morning."
Amadeo's body stiffened. "What?" he whispered.
"She checked out. She took all her belongings with her," the nurse continued. "Since her bills were paid, we assumed she left on her own."
Amadeo's knees buckled slightly, but he forced himself to speak. "Who paid her bills?" he demanded, his voice low and trembling.
The nurse flipped through the paperwork. "There's no name on file," she admitted, "but it might be someone you know..."
"What do you mean?" Amadeo asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Your bills were paid by the same person," the nurse replied carefully.
The police officer and doctor froze. "What?" the officer said, his tone sharp. "We brought him here just last night."
The nurse's expression wavered. "But his room was booked in advance," she explained. "And the payment was processed on the same day as Miss Fontaine's."
Amadeo staggered back, the pieces of the puzzle colliding in his mind like crashing waves. He sank to the floor, his hands resting on his knees, his head bowed in exhaustion and disbelief. "Someone planned this..." he murmured to himself. "They knew she would leave. They knew I'd have an accident. They knew which room I'd be admitted to."
His voice dropped to a whisper as realization set in. "They know everything... Or rather, they decide everything that happens to us."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air like an invisible specter. The police and doctor exchanged uneasy looks, but neither could find the words to respond.