Benedict POV

The next morning, the hospital vibrated with a suppressed, grim energy.

I hovered in the corner of Benedict's office, watching him stare blankly at his computer screen. The internal incident report was open, glowing with cold, blue light.

Subject: Deceased Pediatric Patient.

Cause of Death: Anaphylactic shock secondary to venomous snake bite. Delayed treatment.

Benedict scrolled down, his movements mechanical.

Patient Name: Jeremy Fuller.

His hand paralyzed over the mouse.

Fuller.

My last name.

He blinked—once, twice—as if trying to clear a hallucination. Then, his eyes drifted to the date of birth.

July 14th.

I saw the color drain from his face, leaving him ashen. July 14th. Jeremy's birthday was next week.

A memory flickered, sharp and painful. I remembered finding a browser tab open on Benedict's laptop months ago—a search for a limited-edition Ultraman figure. He knew. Somewhere in the deep recesses of that self-absorbed brain, he had actually remembered his son's birthday.

"Jeremy," he whispered.

The name sounded foreign on his tongue, heavy with a sudden, crushing weight.

My spirit hovered near the ceiling, looking down at the man I had once loved. I felt a surge of grief, not for him, but for Jeremy. My baby had wanted that toy so badly.

A sharp knock broke the silence, and the door swung open before Benedict could answer.

Yvonne entered, carrying two steaming coffees. She looked fresh, rested, and immaculate. A perfect mask.

"Morning, darling," she chirped, her voice jarringly bright against the gloom. "I heard we lost a kid last night. So sad."

I wanted to claw her eyes out. I wanted to smash the scalding coffee cups against the wall and scream the truth into her face.

Benedict looked up at her, his eyes unfocused, swimming in shock.

"The boy..." Benedict’s voice cracked. "His name was Jeremy."

Yvonne did not flinch. Her heartbeat didn't even skip a rhythm. I could sense it from where I floated; she was ice cold, a void where a soul should be.

"Oh? That is a common name."

Benedict rubbed his face aggressively, trying to wake himself up.

"Jensen said there was a woman... at the entrance."

Yvonne set the coffee down on the desk with a deliberate, calm click. She walked over and placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging the tension with practiced ease.

"Ben, you are overthinking. It was a crazy night," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That woman was unhinged. She was screaming obscenities. Francis had to step in to protect the staff."

The lies spilled from her lips as easily as breath.

Benedict leaned back into her touch. He wanted to believe her. God, he wanted to believe her. It was infinitely easier to accept the lie than to face the devastating truth staring him in the face.

"You are right," he murmured, his resistance crumbling. "I am just tired."

Suddenly, the office door burst open.

There was no knock. No polite warning.

An older man in a bespoke, tailored suit strode in, bringing a storm with him. The air in the room shifted instantly, heavy with authority and rage. It was William Sinclair, the hospital CEO. Benedict's father.

He looked furious. But beneath the fury, he looked terrified.

"Dad?" Benedict stood up, startled. "What is wrong?"

William ignored him entirely. He marched straight to the desk and slammed a piece of paper down on top of the incident report.

SLAM.

It was a missing persons flyer. My face. Jeremy's face.

"Where are they?" William demanded, his voice shaking with a volatile mix of fear and anger.

Benedict looked at the flyer, then back at his father, confusion clouding his grief.

"I... I do not understand."

"Security cameras," William barked, his eyes darting to Yvonne like a predator spotting prey. "I just watched the footage from last night. A woman matching her description came in carrying a child. And she never checked out."

Yvonne's hands stilled on Benedict's shoulders. The massage stopped.

William turned his full, withering gaze onto Yvonne. It was a look that could peel the paint off the walls.

"And the footage shows you, Yvonne. It shows you and your brother blocking the door."

I felt a sudden, sharp pull in my chest. My father-in-law—my real family, in spirit if not in blood—was here. He was angry. He was looking for us.

For the first time since I died, amidst the cold fluorescent lights and the stench of betrayal, I felt a tiny spark of warmth.

Benedict POV

The silence in the office was suffocating.

Benedict looked from the flyer to his father, then to Yvonne. His gaze darted back and forth, confusion warping his features.

"Dad, what are you saying?" Benedict asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Yvonne would never..."

"Shut up, Benedict," William snapped. He did not look at his son. His lethal glare was fixed solely on Yvonne.

"Where is my grandson?" William asked. His voice was quiet now, which was far more terrifying than his shouting.

Yvonne let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. She walked around the desk, putting distance between herself and the CEO.

"Grandson? William, surely you do not believe the lies that woman told you," she scoffed. "She was a fling. A mistake Benedict made years ago."

"She was his wife in every way that mattered!" William roared. "And that boy was my blood!"

Yvonne crossed her arms. Her mask was slipping. The sweet fiancée was gone; the cornered animal was emerging.

"She’s a gold digger," Yvonne spat. "She came here last night screaming, making a scene. She was high on something! I did what I had to do to protect the hospital's reputation."

"You blocked a dying child from receiving care!"

"I followed protocol!" Yvonne yelled back. "The ER was at capacity! We can’t just let every hysterical woman off the street waltz in because she claims to know the CEO's son!"

Benedict picked up the flyer. His hands were trembling.

"She left me a note," he whispered. His eyes drifted to the trash can where he had tossed it earlier.

Yvonne's eyes darted to the trash can, then back to Benedict.

"She was harassing you, Ben. Just like she always does. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Benedict looked at her—really looked at her, as if seeing a stranger. "By letting my son die?"

"Oh, stop it!" Yvonne threw her hands up. "It was a snake bite! He was probably dead before she even got here. Why is everyone acting like I murdered him? He was a common patient!"

A common patient.

The words hung in the air.

I watched Benedict's face crumble. I saw the moment his heart broke. Not for me. Not yet. But for the realization of the monster he was sleeping with.

William stepped forward.

"I have launched a formal investigation," he announced. "The police are on their way to seize the security tapes. And you, Yvonne... you are suspended. Immediately."

Yvonne's face turned purple.

"You cannot do that! My family—"

"Your family is the only reason you aren’t in handcuffs yet!" William shouted. "Get out of my hospital."

Yvonne grabbed her purse. She looked at Benedict, expecting him to intervene. Expecting him to save her.

"Ben?" she whimpered, trying to summon crocodile tears.

Benedict did not look up from the flyer. He was transfixed on Jeremy's picture.

"Get out," Benedict whispered.

Yvonne straightened her spine. She smoothed her scrubs. She looked at them with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Fine. But you will see. You will all see. She is not worth this. She never was."

She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I stayed in the shadows. I watched William sink into a chair, burying his face in his hands. I watched Benedict reach into the trash can and retrieve the crumpled note.

He smoothed it out on the desk, his tears falling onto my handwriting, blurring the ink.

Too late, I thought.

It is too late for tears.

Ava POV

The investigation moved with terrifying speed; William Sinclair did not waste time.

By noon, a team of forensic investigators had cordoned off the emergency room entrance. Yellow crime scene tape snapped violently in the wind, a stark contrast to the relentless gray day.

I floated above them, a silent sentinel watching the aftermath of my own murder.

They were hunting for blood. They were scouring the pavement for DNA.

One investigator, a woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense ponytail, was kneeling exactly where I had fallen. Right where Francis had shoved me.

I remembered the pain. I remembered the sickening sound of metal scraping against the tile as I collapsed.

My pendant.

Not the ruby necklace Benedict gave Yvonne. The other one. The small, silver locket I always wore. It held a tiny chip of the same ruby, a leftover shard from when Benedict had commissioned the main necklace for his mother—before he stole it back to give to Yvonne.

It had snapped off when I hit the floor.

It was small. Tiny. Easily missed deep in the grout lines of the tile.

The investigator was scanning the floor with a UV light. She was moving too fast. She was going to miss it.

No, I thought, panic flaring in my chest. Look down. Look closer.

I focused all my energy, all my will, on that tiny spot of silver and red. I could not touch it. I could not speak. But I could... push.

Not physically, but mentally. I focused on the investigator's subconscious.

Look. Look. Look.

The investigator paused. She frowned, the rhythm of her work breaking. She tilted her head, as if she had heard a whisper over the wind.

She moved her light back.

There.

A tiny glint.

She reached into her kit and pulled out a pair of tweezers.

"What do you have?" her partner asked, stepping closer.

She carefully picked up the fragment. It was a piece of silver setting, holding a jagged shard of ruby.

"Looks like jewelry," she said, her voice muffled by her mask. "Broken in a struggle."

She placed it in an evidence bag. She held it up to the gray light.

On the back of the silver setting, microscopic but visible, were initials.

B & A.

Benedict and Ava.

My name. Linked to his.

I felt a surge of triumph that tasted like ash.

The investigator stood up.

"Bag it and tag it," she ordered. "This places the victim exactly where the witness said she was. And if the fracture lines match the jewelry the suspect was wearing..."

She looked toward the hospital doors, her eyes narrowing.

"We've got them."

I looked up at the window of Benedict's office on the third floor. I knew he was up there. I knew he was suffering.

"Good," I whispered to the wind.

Let it burn. Let it all burn.