The corridors of Elara Memorial Hospital were eerily quiet as dusk descended on the building. The events of the past two days were starting to feel like a haze—a blur of rushing, saving, and stabilizing. The medical staff had given everything they had, and now, as night settled in, they were granted a moment of stillness.
In the lobby, the atmosphere was tense in its own way. Officers of the local police department had arrived with a group of detectives, led by Prince Dale, to interview the survivors of the collapsed building. They were looking for any shred of evidence that could point to the cause of the incident. Some of the survivors had minor injuries, others were too exhausted to speak clearly, their memories clouded by the trauma.
Dale, whose presence in the hospital was unmistakable, walked through the lobby with his face a mask of concentration. His sharp eyes moved over the people in the room, as if scanning for something—anything—that would break the veil of uncertainty surrounding the disaster. His duty as both a prince and a protector of his people kept him on edge, but there was something else gnawing at him, something he couldn't quite place. His mind, however, remained fixed on the investigation at hand.
He briefly exchanged words with the police chief before making his way toward the trauma wards where the survivors were being interviewed. His footsteps were swift and purposeful as he passed by the various rooms. The officers had set up a small command station in the hallways, the buzz of conversation and clatter of papers punctuating the otherwise hushed atmosphere.
After an hour, the interviews were coming to a close. The last survivor, a middle-aged man with a deep gash across his forehead, had been escorted to the recovery area for treatment. Dale lingered in the hallway, looking over the notes the police had gathered. He rubbed his temples as a sense of frustration built in him. Nothing concrete had been found. No one had seen anything unusual before the collapse. It felt like they were back at square one.
Dale turned on his heel and headed toward the staff wing. His gaze, once filled with the sharpness of his royal duties, softened slightly as he approached the door to the staff lounge. He had come to find something—anything—that might offer him clarity. Maybe it was a break in the investigation, or maybe it was simply to escape the tension of the day.
Inside, the room was dimly lit. Several of the hospital staff were still present, but only a few were conscious enough to carry on conversations. There, in the corner of the lounge, near one of the large windows, he spotted the familiar figure of Gray. She was asleep—completely out of it—curled up on one of the couches with a blanket loosely thrown over her body. Her legs were tucked up, arms wrapped around her middle, her head leaning against the backrest.
Around her, several other doctors lay slumped in similar states of exhaustion. But Gray—his wife—was different. She appeared entirely lifeless in her sleep. The way she was sprawled on the couch, her breathing shallow but steady, made her look like she had simply fallen off the edge of reality, like she had given everything and then some. It struck Dale, in that moment, how completely at peace she seemed.
She's exhausted, Dale thought, taking a few slow steps toward her. How much did she give today? How much of herself did she sacrifice?
He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't stop his gaze from lingering on her face. Her usually composed expression was replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable in her sleep. The lines of tension he had seen before, the ones that had drawn her face tight with determination and resolve, were gone. She looked... almost like a different person.
How could someone like her give so much? Why does she have to be born from such a damned family? His thoughts trailed off, but the question haunted him.
He wanted to look away. He should look away. After everything—after the way she had fought against him, after the way their lives had intertwined in a tangled mess of duty and resentment—he had no right to feel this... tug.
But there was something about Gray, something that always managed to break through his walls and reach that part of him he kept hidden. It was as if she understood the depths of his inner turmoil, but worse, it was as if she didn't even need to understand—she simply existed in a way that unsettled him.
There was a sudden pang in his chest, a tightening of his throat, and for a brief, fleeting moment, Dale felt vulnerable. He felt as if the walls he had so carefully constructed over the years were beginning to crumble, piece by piece within the months they were together, well not literally together. Gray was doing that to him. He had built up years of resentment, of distance, of anger toward her family. His feelings for her had been cloaked in suspicion, in cold practicality, and yet... here she was, on the couch, looking like an angel lost in exhaustion.
How do I hate someone who is so...
He shook his head quickly, trying to clear his thoughts. No. Not her. She doesn't get to make me question myself like this. She doesn't deserve that kind of power over me.
His eyes narrowed as he forced himself to look away, instead focusing on the staff around the room. Several of them were also collapsed on couches, some sitting in silence, others whispering to one another about the events of the day. The exhaustion was palpable.
Yet, Gray was the only one who made him feel like this.
With a resigned sigh, Dale turned to find one of the nurses in the corner. "Excuse me," he called out, his voice calm despite the swirling thoughts in his head. "Can you wake Dr. Gray? I need to speak with her."
The nurse, a young woman with dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, nodded. "Of course, Your Highness. I'll wake her."
She approached Gray and gently touched her shoulder. "Dr. Gray," the nurse said quietly. "Doc, you need to wake up."
Gray's brow furrows, her lips moving slightly as she stirred from the deep sleep. It took a moment before she blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light.
"Dr. Gray," the nurse repeated, more firmly this time. "Your husband is here."
The word seemed to hit Gray like a splash of cold water. She blinked rapidly, then sat up with a start, her face flushed from sleep. Her eyes darted to Dale, who was standing a few feet away with his arms still crossed, watching her with an unreadable expression.
"Dale," she muttered, her voice thick from sleep. She looked around the room, realizing just how exhausted she was. Her limbs felt like dead weight. "What... what time is it?"
"Around 7:30 PM," Dale answered coolly, though his gaze softened slightly as he watched her adjust to the reality of the moment. "You've been out for hours."
Gray rubbed her eyes, still groggy. "I... didn't realize," she mumbled, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position. "What's the matter?"
"We've thoroughly investigated the incident. However, there's been no breakthrough," Dale replied, his tone clipped, almost as if he were holding something back.
Gray nodded, letting the conversation fall into a lull. Her head was still fuzzy from sleep, and her body ached with exhaustion. But there was something about the way Dale stood there—watching her—that unsettled her.
Why does he always do that? Gray thought, feeling a little defensive. Why does he always look at me like that?
But Dale was not so eager to let go of the silence. He was still staring at her, his gaze intense and full of things unsaid.
Why does she have to make this so difficult? Dale thought to himself, Why does she make it so hard for me to remain... indifferent?
His hands clenched into fists by his sides.
"Don't stay here for too long," Dale said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You need rest. Your team worked tirelessly today, and you've been going for nearly twenty-four hours straight. You should be in bed."
Gray blinked up at him, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Was it concern? No. It couldn't be.
"I will rest, but I'm not going anywhere until the situation here is under control," she replied softly. Her voice was tired but firm. "I'll take a break once the critical cases are settled."
Dale's gaze hardened again, but there was softness behind it. He took a step back. "As you wish. But don't push yourself too hard. Anyway, Dad expects you tomorrow in the palace. The investigation needs to have results as soon as possible." He left after Gray nods softly.
He didn't know why it bothered him so much to hear her words. She was strong, yes. But he didn't want her to be strong alone.
---
As Dale left the lounge, a small voice inside of him whispered something he didn't want to admit.
Why do you care so much, Dale? Why does it hurt when she says she'll push herself further for this state—her state?
But as he moved further down the hall, away from the lounge, he silently cursed himself. He wouldn't—couldn't—let her get under his skin.
But deep down, he knew that the battle was already lost.