HIDDEN FREQUENCIES

THREE DAYS

ARIANA POV

The hospital room was too white.

White walls.

White curtains.

White sheets.

White lights above my head.

Everything looked clean.

Calm.

Controlled.

Nothing like the lab.

Nothing like cracked glass, screaming alarms, and a chair glowing like it wanted to tear the world apart.

I sat on the edge of the hospital bed while the doctor finished wrapping the cut on my palm.

There were small bandages on my arm.

Another one near my cheek.

Nothing serious.

At least, that was what the doctor said.

Minor cuts.

Light bruising.

Stress response.

Rest advised.

Simple words.

Safe words.

Words that made the whole thing sound normal.

It was not normal.

Nothing about that room had been normal.

Nothing about the chair had ever been normal.

The doctor finally left after giving instructions Ethan listened to too carefully.

Then the door closed.

And suddenly, it was only us.

Ethan stood near the window with his arms crossed, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed somewhere outside.

He hadn’t said much since we left the lab.

That was unusual.

Ethan Blake seemed like the kind of man who always had something to say.

An order.

A question.

A challenge.

But now, he was silent.

And somehow, his silence felt heavier than his questions.

I looked down at my bandaged hand.

“You can stop staring.”

His eyes moved to me.

“I’m not staring.”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That seems dangerous for everyone involved.”

For one second, his expression almost changed.

Almost.

Then his eyes dropped to my hand again.

“You could have died.”

I looked away.

“I didn’t.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one that matters.”

“No.” His voice hardened slightly. “It is not.”

I sighed.

“I have a few cuts, Ethan. That’s all.”

His entire body stilled.

Only then did I realize what I had said.

Ethan.

Not Mr. Blake.

Not sir.

Not the wall I kept placing between us.

His name.

The room became too quiet.

I looked away immediately.

“It slipped.”

He didn’t answer.

That made it worse.

When I finally looked back, he was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.

Not satisfaction.

Not amusement.

Something softer.

Something I didn’t want.

“You used to say my name like that,” he said quietly.

My throat tightened.

“Don’t.”

His face changed.

Just a little.

Regret.

Or maybe memory.

I hated both.

He stepped away from the window and came closer.

Not too close.

He stopped near the foot of the bed, leaving enough space between us.

He remembered.

After the hallway.

After my warning.

He remembered not to crowd me.

That should not have mattered.

It did.

“How did you know?” he asked.

There it was.

I knew it was coming.

Still, my fingers tightened around the bedsheet.

“How did I know what?”

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

“How to stop it.”

I looked down at my bandaged hand.

“I saw which regulator was still active.”

“No.”

I hated that word.

Quiet.

Certain.

Impossible to escape.

“You did not just see it,” he said. “Everyone was running. Lucian froze. Richard didn’t know what to do. The whole room was panicking.”

I said nothing.

“You walked straight to the panel,” he continued. “You knew the system would reject the artificial model. You knew the wave was building outward. You knew the shutdown wouldn’t work.”

I forced myself to stay still.

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“I’m giving you exactly what I saw.”

His voice was low now.

Controlled.

But beneath that control, there was something else.

Fear.

Not of the chair.

Of me.

Or maybe for me.

I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“The core changed when you touched the regulator,” he said.

My heart stopped.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Ethan Blake noticed everything he was not supposed to.

I lifted my chin.

“The core was already unstable.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then say what you mean.”

His jaw tightened.

For a moment, he looked like he might.

Then he stopped himself.

Good.

Because if he asked the right question, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to lie properly.

He exhaled slowly.

“I mean, you know more than you’re saying.”

I gave him a tired smile.

“So do most people.”

“Ariana.”

“Ethan.”

His name left my mouth again.

This time, I didn’t correct it.

His eyes softened for half a second.

I looked away before it could reach me.

“I stopped it because everyone else was running,” I said quietly. “That’s all.”

“That’s not all.”

“It has to be.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

He heard it.

The room fell silent again.

Outside the window, the city moved like nothing had happened. Cars passed. Lights blinked. People lived normal lives without knowing that a few floors underground, something impossible had almost woken up.

I used to want impossible things.

Now I only wanted ordinary ones.

Peace.

Quiet.

Distance.

A life where no one looked at me like I was the answer to something dangerous.

Ethan sat in the chair beside the bed.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he didn’t want to scare me away.

That almost made me laugh.

Ethan Blake, careful.

The world really had changed.

“You were bleeding,” he said.

I looked at him.

“What?”

“In the lab.” His eyes moved to the bandage near my cheek. “You were bleeding, and you still kept going.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” I said softly. “I didn’t.”

Because if I had stopped, people would have died.

If I had hesitated, the wave would have broken containment.

If I had run like everyone else, the chair would have released.

And maybe this time, the damage would not have stopped at one lab.

Ethan watched me.

I could feel him trying to understand.

Trying to piece together all the missing parts.

Ares.

Graduation night.

XI:N .

Lucian.

The chair.

Me.

He was closer than before.

Not close enough.

But closer.

That scared me.

“You’re taking leave,” he said suddenly.

I blinked.

“What?”

“Three days.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I sat straighter.

“I don’t need leave.”

“You were in an accident.”

“I have small cuts.”

“You walked into a radiation field.”

“It wasn’t exactly radiation.”

His eyes narrowed.

I immediately regretted saying that.

He leaned back slightly.

“What was it?”

I looked away.

“Energy exposure.”

“That sounds like something you invented to avoid answering.”

“It sounds professional.”

“It sounds suspicious.”

“It sounds like I’m tired.”

That stopped him.

His expression shifted.

I hadn’t meant to say it like that.

But it was true.

I was tired.

So tired.

Tired of running from the past.

Tired of hiding what I knew.

Tired of pretending the chair was just a project and not a graveyard of everything I had tried to forget.

Ethan’s voice softened.

“Then rest.”

“I can work from home.”

“No.”

“You’re not my father.”

“No,” he said. “I’m your boss.”

I gave him a look.

“That is not better.”

His mouth almost curved.

Almost.

Then his expression returned to seriousness.

“Three days. Paid leave. No office. No lab. No reports.”

“You can’t stop me from reading reports.”

“I can block your access.”

My eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.”

The words were quiet.

But final.

I looked at him for a long moment.

There was no arrogance in his face now.

No challenge.

No need to win.

Only concern.

Real concern.

That was the problem.

I knew how to fight cruelty.

I knew how to fight arrogance.

I knew how to fight Ethan when he acted like the powerful CEO everyone feared.

But this version of him?

The one sitting beside a hospital bed, giving me three days of leave because he looked genuinely shaken?

I didn’t know how to fight that.

So I looked down at my hand instead.

“Three days is too much.”

“It isn’t.”

“One day.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Are you negotiating or pretending to?”

“Pretending.”

Despite myself, a weak laugh escaped.

Small.

Barely there.

But real.

Ethan heard it.

His eyes changed.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

Like he had found something he thought was lost.

I immediately stopped smiling.

Too late.

He had already seen.

For a second, the air between us changed.

Not healed.

Not forgiven.

Not soft enough to trust.

But different.

Then I cthen leared my throat.

“Fine. Three days.”

Relief crossed his face so quickly I almost missed it.

Almost.

“But I’m not staying in the hospital.”

“The doctor advised observation.”

“The doctor advised rest.”

“He advised observation.”

“I heard him say rest.”

“You were ignoring half of what he said.”

“I was injured.”

“That excuse works once.”

I glared at him.

He looked completely unmoved.

Infuriating man.

“I’m going home,” I said.

He studied me for a moment.

Then nodded.

“I’ll take you.”

“I can call a cab.”

“You can.”

I waited.

He didn’t continue.

I frowned.

“But?”

“But I’m still taking you.”

“Do you always offer things like orders?”

He looked at me quietly.

“I’m trying not to.”

That made me pause.

The honesty was unexpected.

Simple.

Unpolished.

Too close to the boy he used to be.

I looked away first.

“Fine.”

He stood.

“I’ll handle the discharge papers.”

“I can handle my own papers.”

“I know.”

He paused near the door.

“Let me do this.”

The words were quiet.

Not commanding.

Not demanding.

Just asking.

That made it harder to refuse.

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t stop him either.

He left the room for a few minutes.

The moment the door closed, I released the breath I had been holding.

My bandaged hand rested in my lap.

Beneath the bandage, my palm still tingled.

Not from pain.

From memory.

For one second in that lab, when I touched the regulator, the core had shifted toward me.

Not enough for anyone to understand.

Not enough for the machines to record clearly.

But enough for me to know.

It had searched.

It had rejected the artificial model.

Then it had found something closer.

Me.

I closed my eyes.

No one else could know that.

Not Lucian.

Not Ethan.

No one.

Because if they knew the chair responded to my frequency, they would never stop asking why.

And the answer would destroy the life I had built.

The door opened again.

I opened my eyes.

Ethan walked back inside with the discharge papers in his hand.

“All set.”

I slid off the bed.

The moment my feet touched the floor, the room tilted slightly.

I caught the edge of the bed before he could reach me.

“I’m fine,” I said immediately.

He stopped halfway.

His hands remained at his sides.

Careful.

Respectful.

Worried.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was.”

At least he was honest.

I straightened slowly.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

But he stayed close enough to catch me if I couldn’t.

We walked out of the room together.

The hallway was quiet.

No researchers.

No Lucian.

No Richard.

No questions.

Just us.

For once, there were no interruptions.

At the hospital exit, cool night air touched my face.

Ethan’s car was waiting near the entrance.

He opened the passenger door.

I looked at him.

“I can open a door.”

“I know.”

“And yet?”

“And yet you have one injured hand.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Calm.

Patient.

Infuriating.

Finally, I got in.

He closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side.

As he started the car, silence settled between us again.

But this silence was different.

Not safe.

Never safe.

But not as sharp as before.

After a while, he spoke.

“Three days, Ariana.”

I looked out the window.

“I heard you the first twelve times.”

“No office.”

“Yes.”

“No lab.”

“Yes.”

“No reports.”

I turned to him.

“That one is unreasonable.”

“It stays.”

“You’re abusing your authority.”

“You walked into a collapsing lab.”

“You keep bringing that up.”

“I’m going to bring it up for a while.”

I sighed.

He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice softened.

“Rest. Please.”

That word.

Please.

It should not have affected me.

It did.

I looked away before he could see too much.

“Fine.”

The city lights passed over the windshield.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.

Then Ethan said quietly,

“You scared me today.”

My chest tightened.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I gave the only answer I could manage.

“I scared myself too.”

He glanced at me.

Only briefly.

But enough.

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

When the car stopped outside my building, I reached for the door.

“Ariana.”

I paused.

His hands remained on the steering wheel.

His eyes stayed forward.

Like looking at me would make the words harder.

“I won’t ask tonight.”

I turned slightly toward him.

“Ask what?”

He finally looked at me.

“How you knew.”

My throat tightened.

“I appreciate that.”

“But I will ask eventually.”

Of course he would.

This was Ethan.

He didn’t let go of questions.

Or people.

That was the problem.

I opened the door.

“Then I’ll eventually not answer.”

For the first time that night, he almost smiled.

Almost.

“Get some rest.”

I stepped out of the car.

“Good night, Ethan.”

This time, I said his name on purpose.

I don’t know why.

Maybe because I was tired.

Maybe because he had listened.

Maybe because tonight, for one small moment, he had felt less like the boy who destroyed me and more like the boy I once trusted.

His expression changed.

Softened.

Just enough.

“Good night, Ariana.”

I closed the door and walked toward my building.

I didn’t look back until I reached the entrance.

His car was still there.

He was still watching.

Not with suspicion this time.

Not only.

With worry.

I hated how much that stayed with me.

Only after I entered the building did his car finally pull away.

I leaned against the elevator wall and closed my eyes.

Three days.

Three days away from Novaris.

Three days away from the lab.

Three days away from Ethan Blake.

But not away from the truth.

Because the chair had nearly exploded today.

Lucian Vale had found the first pulse.

Ethan had started asking the right questions.

And for one terrifying second, the core had reached for me.

I opened my eyes as the elevator doors parted.

No one else knew.

Not yet.

But I did.

The chair had not simply responded.

It had recognized the closest match in the room.

And that meant the past was not buried anymore.

It was awake.