Rain fell steadily against the glass.
Not loud enough to be a storm.
Not soft enough to be ignored.
Just constant.
Relentless.
The hospital seemed quieter because of it.
Corridors half-lit.
Fewer footsteps.
Fewer voices.
Even the air felt heavier—like everything inside the building had slowed down, waiting.
Emma lay awake.
Her eyes open.
Fixed on the ceiling.
She hadn’t tried to sleep.
Didn’t want to.
Because something inside her had already settled into certainty.
Tonight.
It would happen tonight.
Her fingers rested lightly against the bedsheet, unmoving. The dull ache in her body lingered—her fractured leg, the tight pull of healing wounds—but it felt distant.
Secondary.
Her mind was sharp.
Watching.
Listening.
The rain tapped steadily against the window beside her
