The stretcher's wheels rattled beneath me, louder than the nurses' voices. I felt the tug of their hands, the sting of antiseptic, the firm press of a cuff on my arm.
The pain from the bullets had faded.
What hurt more was the cold. The hunger. The fear. The running. Not knowing who would catch me first—death or the men who left me in the woods.
When I woke, the lights were softer. Machines clicked quietly around me. My mouth tasted like metal and cotton. My body throbbed, but it wasn't screaming anymore.
They'd cleaned me. Stitched what they could. Hooked me to warmth, fluids, and whatever kept the fog from dragging me under.
I was alive.
I turned my head. A nurse was scribbling something near the window. She noticed me.
"You're up," she said gently. "That's good. We've been monitoring you."
I blinked slowly. "How long?"
"Almost twelve hours. You were severely dehydrated. Your wounds… not fresh, but infected. You've been through a lot."
My shoulder ached. The bruises along my ribs reminded me how rough the escape had been. Sleeping on leaves. Crawling through mud. That final rescue by Eli.
I looked toward the door. "Is he still here?"
The nurse's face softened. "He's outside. Didn't want to leave, even when visiting hours ended. Said he'd wait till you woke up."
A knot formed in my throat.
He could've left.
He should've left.
But he didn't.
She came closer, adjusting the blanket over me. "You're safe now, Mercy. The police might want to talk to you later… but only if you're ready."
I nodded, but my heart sank.
Police meant questions. Reports. Identity.
And I had none to give—at least not the real kind.
When she stepped out, I stared at the ceiling. The ache behind my eyes built until the tears came, slow and quiet.
They hadn't killed me.
But I wasn't free.
Not yet.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
The door eased open, and there he was—Eli. His hair was messier than before, eyes heavy with exhaustion, jacket folded under one arm like he hadn't left the hallway all night.
"You're awake," he said, relief loosening his voice. "Thank God."
He crossed the room carefully, like he was afraid he'd break something—me, maybe. I nodded, swallowing hard. His presence brought warmth I didn't know I'd missed until it was there again.
"I brought these," he said, holding up a flimsy plastic bag. "Not much. Just some juice and… crackers. You don't have to eat now. I just didn't want you to wake up hungry."
I blinked fast. "You stayed?"
His brow furrowed, like the question surprised him. "'Course I did."
He set the bag on the side table and pulled the chair closer. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. Just full.
I met his eyes, expecting doubt, maybe pity.
Instead, I found calm.
"You don't have to explain anything," he added. "Not until you want to."
Something in my chest eased.
I didn't trust easily.
But maybe… maybe trust could start here. In a hospital room. In the calm after chaos.
A knock broke the quiet.
Eli stood as the door opened, revealing a pair of uniformed officers.
"Sorry to interrupt," one said, polite but firm. "We need to ask a few questions."
Eli glanced at me, then stepped aside. "I'll wait outside."
I reached for his wrist without thinking. "Stay. Please."
The officers looked between us, then nodded once.
"Alright. Just a few things. Your nam
e is Mercy?"
I hesitated.
Before I could speak, footsteps pounded from down the corridor.