I woke up to white ceiling tiles and the smell of disinfectant.

My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. My mouth tasted like metal. And my left arm — I tried to move it and couldn't. When I looked down, it was wrapped in plaster from wrist to elbow, suspended in a sling across my chest.

I blinked. The room swam into focus. Hospital bed. IV drip. Monitor beeping somewhere to my left.

My right hand moved instinctively to my wrist.

The bracelet was still there.

Abuela's jade rosary. The beads were cool against my skin. I ran my thumb over them, counting. All there. Intact.

I exhaled.

The door was closed. Through the narrow window, I could see the empty hallway. No nurses. No doctors. Just the distant sound of a cart rolling past and someone's muffled voice on a phone.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember.

The cab. The rain on the window. My phone pressed against my chest.

Then light. Bright and sudden and wrong.

Then nothing.

I opened my eyes again. Stared at the ceiling. Tried to breathe past the tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with the accident.

Cason's face. The ring on Clover's finger. The crowd's uncertain laughter.

*We're done.*

I'd said it. I'd meant it.

And then I'd gotten into a cab and—

The door slammed open.

I flinched. The monitor spiked.

Cason stood in the doorway, phone in hand, face twisted into something I didn't recognize.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

I stared at him. My mouth opened. No sound came out.

He crossed the room in three strides and shoved the phone in my face. The screen was too close. I couldn't focus. But I saw red. Scratches. Skin.

"Look at this!" His voice was loud. Too loud. "Look what you did!"

I blinked. The image sharpened. Clover's neck. Long red marks running from her collarbone to her jaw.

"I didn't—" My voice cracked. "I slapped her. Once. I didn't scratch—"

"Don't lie to me!" Cason's hand hit the bed rail. The metal rang. "She's terrified of you. She wanted to press charges. I had to talk her out of it."

I looked past him. Clover was in the doorway now, one hand pressed to her throat, eyes wide and glistening. She was wearing a soft pink sweater. Her hair was down. She looked small.

She looked like a victim.

"I'm so sorry," Clover whispered. "I didn't mean to make things worse. I just wanted to check on you."

Mia's voice cut through from the hallway. "Get away from her."

Mia pushed past Clover into the room. Her eyes were red. Her jaw was tight.

"Alma, are you okay?"

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

Cason turned on Mia. "This doesn't concern you."

"The hell it doesn't." Mia stepped between us. "You need to leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until she admits what she did."

"I didn't scratch her," I said again. Louder this time. "I slapped her. That's it."

Clover made a small sound. A whimper. She moved toward the nightstand, one hand still at her throat, the other reaching out as if to steady herself.

"I just need some water," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She leaned against the nightstand. Her sleeve brushed the edge.

I saw it happen in slow motion.

The bracelet slid. Tipped. Fell.

It hit the tile floor with a sound like breaking glass.

Beads scattered. The jade cracked. The clasp snapped open and skittered under the bed.

I screamed.

Not a word. Just sound. Raw and animal and torn from somewhere deep.

I lunged forward. The IV pulled. The sling caught. Pain shot up my arm and I didn't care.

Mia caught me. Held me back.

Clover's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Get out." My voice was shaking. "Get out. GET OUT!"

Cason didn't move. He looked at the shattered bracelet. At me. At Mia holding me upright.

"You need to calm down," he said.

I stared at him.

At the man who had driven seven hundred miles to see me. Who had danced with me in a tiny apartment. Who had promised me forever.

At the stranger standing in his place.

"We're done," I said again.

This time, my voice didn't shake.

Cason's jaw tightened. "You don't mean that."

"I mean it."

"You're upset. You're hurt. You'll change your mind."

"I won't."

Something shifted in his face. The concern — fake as it was — dropped away. What was left was cold.

"Fine," he said. "Have it your way."

He pulled out his phone. Dialed. Put it to his ear.

"Yeah, it's Cason Stone," he said into the phone. His eyes were on me. "I need you to pull authorization on a patient. Herrera. First name… what's your grandmother's first name, Alma?"

The room went silent.

Mia's grip on my arm tightened.

"Maria," I whispered.

"Maria Herrera," Cason said into the phone. "Cancel the experimental medication. Effective immediately."

I stopped breathing.

"Cason—" Mia started.

"You want to be done?" Cason said. He ended the call. Slipped the phone into his pocket. "Then we're done."

He turned to the door. Clover was already backing into the hallway, eyes down.

Cason paused at the threshold. Looked back.

"Security will escort you out in twenty minutes," he said. "I suggest you get dressed."

The door closed.

I sank back against the pillow. Stared at the ceiling.

Mia was saying something. Her voice sounded far away.

I looked at the floor. At the scattered beads. At the cracked jade.

Abuela's bracelet.

The only thing I had left of her.

Gone.

I looked at Cason.

Really looked at him.

Not the man I'd imagined for five years. Not the memory of someone who'd once driven through the night to see me. Not the version of him I'd been clinging to like a life raft in the middle of the ocean.

Just him. The man standing in front of me. The man who'd put a ring on another woman's finger. The man who'd just watched that woman destroy the last thing I had of my grandmother and done nothing.

The man who was threatening Abuela's life because I wouldn't take him back.

"We're done," I said.

My voice was quiet. Steady. It didn't shake. It didn't rise. It just was.

Cason's face changed. The fake concern dropped away like a mask. What was left was something cold and sharp.

"You don't want to do this," he said.

"I already did."

"Alma." He stepped closer. "Think about what you're saying."

"I have."

"You're upset. You're hurt. You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking clearly for the first time in five years."

His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped near his temple.

"You're making a mistake," he said.

I looked at the shattered bracelet on the floor. At the jade beads scattered across white tile. At the broken clasp under the bed.

"No," I said. "I'm fixing one."

Cason stared at me. His hand curled into a fist at his side. Then he pulled out his phone.

"Fine," he said. "Have it your way."

He dialed. Put the phone to his ear. His eyes never left my face.

"Yeah, it's Cason Stone," he said. His voice was calm. Casual. Like he was ordering coffee. "I need you to pull authorization on a patient. Maria Herrera. Cancel the experimental medication. Effective immediately."

The room tilted.

Mia's grip on my arm tightened so hard it hurt.

"Cason, don't—" she started.

"It's done," Cason said. He ended the call. Slipped the phone back into his pocket. "You want to be done? Then we're done."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think past the roaring in my ears.

Abuela. Her hospital bed. Her thin hands. Her voice telling me to wear the bracelet and find my way back to people who truly loved me.

Abuela, who was alive because of that medication. Only because of that medication.

Cason watched me. Waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to beg.

I didn't.

I looked at him and felt something inside me go very still. Very cold.

"Get out," I said.

His smile was thin and sharp. "Gladly."

He turned to the door. Gestured to someone in the hallway I couldn't see.

"Security will escort you out in twenty minutes," he said. "I suggest you get dressed."

Then he was gone. Clover trailing after him like a shadow.

The door closed.

Mia was saying something. Her voice sounded far away. Underwater.

I stared at the ceiling. At the white tiles. At the fluorescent lights.

Twenty minutes.

I tried to sit up. Pain shot through my arm. The IV pulled. The monitor beeped faster.

"Alma, don't—" Mia started.

"I need to get dressed," I said.

My voice sounded strange. Flat. Like it belonged to someone else.

Mia's eyes were wet. "You can't leave. You just had a car accident. You need to stay—"

"He owns this hospital, Mia."

She stopped. Stared at me.

"The Stone family," I said. "They're on the board. They fund the new wing. If Cason says I leave, I leave."

Mia's face crumpled. "This is insane. This is—"

"Help me up."

She did. Her hands were shaking.

I pulled the IV out myself. A drop of blood welled up. I pressed my thumb against it and stood.

The room swayed. I grabbed the bed rail. Waited for it to steady.

My clothes were in a plastic bag on the chair. Mia handed them to me. I dressed one-handed, the cast making everything twice as hard. My dress from the party. The one I'd spent an hour picking out.

It smelled like champagne and smoke.

I pulled it on anyway.

Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Multiple.

The door opened.

Two security guards. Both men. Both big. Both wearing Stone Medical Center badges.

"Ms. Herrera," the first one said. "We need you to come with us."

Mia stepped between us. "She's injured. She needs medical care."

"We have our orders, ma'am."

"Your orders are to throw an injured woman onto the street?"

The guard's face didn't change. "We need you to come with us," he said again. This time to me.

I looked at Mia. At her red eyes and tight jaw and the way her hands were shaking.

"It's okay," I said.

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.

But I said it anyway.

The guards walked me through the hallway. Past nurses who looked away. Past patients who stared. Past the elevator and down the back stairs and through a service exit that opened onto the loading dock.

It was raining.

Cold, thin rain that soaked through my dress in seconds.

The guards stopped at the edge of the dock. One of them gestured to the street below.

"You can go," he said.

I looked at him. At his blank face and his Stone Medical Center badge.

"My phone," I said. "My purse. They're still in the room."

"We'll mail them to you."

"I need them now."

"We'll mail them to you," he said again.

Then he turned and walked back inside.

The door closed. Locked.

I stood on the loading dock in the rain. Arm in a cast. Hospital gown under my dress. No phone. No purse. No way to call anyone.

I looked up at the building. At the lit windows. At the Stone Medical Center sign glowing against the dark sky.

Then I turned and walked down the steps to the curb.

The rain was heavier now. It plastered my hair to my face. Soaked through the cast. Made my dress cling to my skin.

I stood on the sidewalk and looked at the empty street.

No cabs. No buses. Just rain and darkness and the distant sound of traffic.

I started walking.

I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay here.

Behind me, the automatic doors of Stone Medical Center slid shut.

And I was alone.

I walked for twenty minutes before I admitted I had no idea where I was going.

The rain was cold. It soaked through the cast and made my arm throb. My dress clung to my skin. My shoes — the heels I'd worn to the party — were ruined.

I passed closed storefronts. Dark windows. Empty bus stops.

No cabs. No people. Just rain and shadows and the distant sound of traffic I couldn't reach.

My legs were shaking. Not from cold. From the crash. From everything.

I needed to sit down. I needed to call someone. I needed my phone.

But my phone was in a hospital room I couldn't go back to. And everyone I could call was asleep. Or didn't care. Or was Cason.

I kept walking.

The International District was quiet at this hour. A few neon signs still flickered. A late-night grocery. A karaoke bar with the lights off. And then — a diner.

24-hour breakfast. The sign buzzed in the window.

I pushed the door open. A bell chimed.

The place was empty. Booths along the wall. Counter with stools. Smell of old coffee and grease.

A man looked up from behind the register. Heavy. Fifties. Stained apron.

"We're closing," he said.

I looked at the sign. "It says twenty-four hours."

He looked me over. Wet dress. Cast. No purse. No coat.

His eyes lingered too long.

"What do you need?" he asked.

I stepped inside. Water dripped from my hair onto the floor.

"Just somewhere to sit," I said. "And a phone charger. Please."

He didn't move.

I heard the door close behind me. The lock clicked.

I turned.

The man was walking toward me now. Slow. Deliberate.

"You look like you've had a rough night," he said.

I backed up. My hip hit a table.

"I just need to charge my phone," I said again.

He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Phone's in the back," he said. "Come on. I'll show you."

He reached for my wrist — my good wrist.

I yanked it back.

"Don't touch me."

"Hey, relax." His voice was soft now. Coaxing. "I'm just trying to help."

He stepped closer. I could smell him. Sweat and old smoke.

I backed into the counter. Nowhere left to go.

"I'll scream," I said.

He laughed. "Go ahead. No one's around."

His hand shot out. Grabbed my arm. The broken one.

I gasped. Pain exploded up my shoulder.

He pulled me toward him.

I swung. My right fist connected with his jaw. Not hard enough. He didn't even flinch.

His other hand went to my throat.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't—

The door exploded inward.

Not opened. Exploded. The frame splintered. The hinges tore free. The entire door flew into the diner and hit the floor with a crash that shook the windows.

The man let go. Stumbled back.

I collapsed against the counter, gasping.

A man stepped through the doorway.

Tall. Dark suit. No umbrella. Rain dripped from his hair and shoulders.

He looked at me. Then at the diner owner.

He didn't say a word.

He just moved.

One step. Two. Then his foot drove into the man's chest.

The owner flew backward. Hit a stack of chairs. Crashed to the floor in a tangle of metal and wood.

He didn't get up.

The stranger turned to me.

I pressed back against the counter. My legs wouldn't hold me.

He pulled off his overcoat. It was heavy. Expensive. I could tell even in the dim light.

He draped it over my shoulders.

The fabric was warm. Soft. It smelled like cedar and rain.

I looked up.

His face was sharp. Controlled. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

But his hands, when he lifted me, were careful.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

His voice was low. Quiet. It didn't match the violence I'd just seen.

I shook my head.

"All right," he said.

He lifted me. One arm under my knees. One behind my back. The cast pressed against his chest.

I should have protested. Should have said something.

I didn't.

He carried me through the broken doorway into the rain.

A black car was parked at the curb. Engine running. Driver in front.

The stranger opened the back door and set me inside. Gently. Like I was made of glass.

He slid in beside me. Pulled the door shut.

The driver didn't ask questions. Just pulled into the street.

I sat there. Shaking. The overcoat wrapped around me like a shield.

The stranger didn't speak. Didn't look at me. Just stared out the window at the passing city.

Finally, I found my voice.

"Who are you?"

He turned. His eyes met mine.

"Royce Stone," he said.

The name hit me like cold water.

Stone. Cason's last name. Cason's family.

I pulled back. "You're—"

"His uncle," Royce said. "Yes."

I stared at him. At the man who'd just kicked a door off its hinges. Who'd lifted me like I weighed nothing. Who was sitting beside me now in a car I didn't recognize, taking me somewhere I didn't know.

"Why were you there?" I whispered.

His jaw tightened. Just slightly.

"I was looking for you," he said.

I didn't understand. Couldn't process.

"Your grandmother's medication," he continued. His voice was calm. Steady. "It will be restored by morning. You have my word."

I stopped breathing.

"How did you—"

"I know what my nephew did," Royce said. "And I know what you've lost."

He looked at me. Really looked at me.

"You won't lose anything else," he said. "Not while I'm here."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

The car turned onto a quieter street. Tall buildings. Lit windows.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Somewhere safe," Royce said.

I looked down at the overcoat. At my ruined dress underneath. At the cast on my arm.

At the jade beads that weren't there anymore.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

Royce didn't answer right away. He just looked out the window again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

"You will," he said.