Zorion hated how loud everything felt when you were trying to stay invisible.
The hum of the elevator panel.
The soft thump of his heartbeat in his ears.
The quiet tap of Alethea's boot on tile.
They reached the elevator panel, breaths tight. Alethea hit the button.
Click.
No ding. Just tension.
Sathvic scanned left. Zorion checked right. Silence. A flickering light above buzzed like it knew their secret.
"We could've just used this from the ground floor," Zorion muttered.
Alethea's voice was low but clipped.
"We searched ten minutes for a second stairwell. This is plan Z."
Ding.
Doors slid open. Empty.
They stepped in, masks up, nerves taut.
"How does ten seconds feel like an hour when you really don't wanna be spotted?" Alethea muttered.
Second floor.
Zorion nodded. "Room 202."
Zaherran Hospital — 12:41 A.M.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
And right there—Room 202.
But not just that.
A nurse. Walking straight toward it, clipboard in hand.
"Crap," Sathvic muttered under his breath. "Couldn't we have been two minutes earlier?"
"Move—washroom." Alethea hissed.
They ducked into the narrow space beside the elevator—a patient washroom, two feet from Room 202. The door clicked shut just as the nurse passed.
Their breaths were shallow.
Sathvic leaned against the cold tile wall, listening through the door.
Alethea whispered, "We wait till she leaves. Then grab Inaya, go down, and run. That's it."
Zorion, grinning faintly beneath his mask: "Way easier than I thought."
They waited.
Seconds stretched thin. A distant cart rolled. Footsteps. A soft knock on a door. The nurse's voice—gentle, checking in.
Then: silence again.
Sathvic peered out. The nurse turned down the hall and disappeared around the corner.
"Clear," he mouthed.
They slipped out—silent shadows.
One step.
Two.
Room 202.
Alethea's gloved hand turned the knob slowly. It clicked.
The door opened.
Inside, soft moonlight bled through the blinds. Medical beeps pulsed slow and steady. And in the cot—
Inaya.
Small. Curled. Clutching her rabbit like armor. Asleep.
Alethea approached quietly. Her hand reached forward.
"Inaya," she whispered, just above the silence.
The girl stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open—and widened in an instant.
Three masked strangers in black hoodies.
She inhaled sharply—about to scream.
But Zorion was faster. Calm, smooth, instinctive—his hand covered her mouth. Not rough, just firm. His eyes told her: Wait.
And then—
Alethea lowered her mask.
"It's us," she whispered urgently. "It's me. We came for you."
A pause.
Recognition.
Then—
Tears.
But this time, they were from joy.
She nodded, overwhelmed.
Zorion gently pulled his hand away from Inaya's mouth. She stared at them, eyes glimmering with disbelief and joy.
"Are… are you actually here to help me?" she whispered, voice trembling, barely audible over the beeping machines.
Alethea knelt beside her and pulled her mask off fully. "Yes, love. We're here to take you home. Right now."
Inaya's eyes welled up, her tiny fingers still gripping her stuffed rabbit. "But…."
Alethea took her hand. "Just trust us for five more minutes. We've risked everything to get you out."
That was enough.
Inaya nodded.
Sathvic stepped over and checked the hallway again. Clear. Silent. Still drenched in that same dim amber hospital lighting, but time felt like it was cracking at the edges.
"Let's move," he said.
Alethea slung a small satchel they'd brought over her own shoulder—water, backup clothes, even slippers.
Every step toward the door felt loud even when it wasn't.
They slipped into the hallway, walking in sync, masking their urgency with calm pace. Room 202 behind them.
Then the elevator came into sight.
"Almost there," Alethea muttered, eyes locked on the metallic doors like salvation.
Zorion reached the button first, pressed it once. Then again.
Seconds dragged.
"It's just like you said," he whispered. "Ten seconds feel like an hour when you're not supposed to be seen."
The elevator dinged. Doors opened.
They stepped inside with synchronized breath. The doors began to close—
—but at the last second, a figure turned the corner at the far end of the hall.
The floor's cleaner.
Old, half-asleep, with a rolling mop bucket. He glanced up—then froze.
His eyes locked onto Inaya.
His mouth parted in shock.
Recognition flared. Panic set in.
And then—thunk—the elevator doors shut in his stunned face.
"He saw us." Zorion's voice was tight, heart hammering in his throat.
Sathvic didn't flinch. He hit a button, then calmly leaned back against the wall.
"Then we do what we came to do," he said. "And we do it fast."
Alethea nodded. Her mask was back on. "There's no turning back now."
Zorion exhaled. For a second, his chest felt like it would implode. But between the two of them—one composed like ice, the other fierce like fire—he found a stillness.
He looked down at Inaya, who clutched his jacket sleeve without realizing it.
He gave her a small smile.
"You're gonna be okay."
The elevator kept sliding downward—every second a countdown.
Each of them knew the real escape hadn't started yet.
But now, there was no more hesitation.
Only momentum.