The hospital's automatic doors parted with a mechanical whisper, releasing a gust of antiseptic-scented air that made Lorelei's eyes water. Her camera bag hung against her hip, the monarch mask nestled inside. The high ceilings and polished linoleum floor stretched ahead, each footfall echoing with a squeak that seemed to announce her presence to the entire building.
At the reception desk sat a woman whose gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, so tight it seemed to stretch her features into a permanent frown of disapproval. Her scrubs were the color of faded mint, and her fingers moved across a keyboard with the speed and precision of someone who'd performed the same motions thousands of times before.
Lorelei approached slowly, her prepared words dissolving on her tongue. She cleared her throat, the sound embarrassingly loud in the sterile quiet.
"Excuse me," she began, her voice smaller than intended. "I'm looking for information about someone who was brought in last night. Early this morning, actually. I'm the one who called the ambulance."
The nurse looked up from the keys. She didn't speak immediately. Instead, she studied Lorelei with the detached interest of someone cataloging a specimen. The silence stretched between them, filled only by other visitors in the lobby and the soft hiss of the ventilation system.
"Name?" the nurse asked finally, her fingers poised over the keyboard.
Lorelei's stomach clenched. She didn't know his real name, only the stage name Echo, and even that was still only a possibility. Her hands twisted the strap of her camera bag.
"I don't know his name," she admitted, heat creeping up her neck. "I found him injured on Ansley Street around three-thirty this morning."
The nurse's expression didn't change, but something shifted in her posture. "Are you family?"
"I mean, no, I just—"
"Then I can't give you any information." The words were delivered like a door slamming shut. "Patient confidentiality laws, you understand."
Lorelei leaned forward slightly, casting glances around her as she whispered. "I just want to know if he's okay. I don't need details, just—is he going to be all right?"
The nurse's fingers had returned to the keyboard, her attention already back on the computer screen. "I can't discuss any patient's condition with unauthorized individuals. If you're concerned about someone, you'll need to contact them directly or speak with their family."
"But I don't know how to contact him," Lorelei pressed, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself and lowered it again. Other people in the waiting area were starting to look in their direction—a man in a rumpled suit clutching a coffee cup, an elderly woman with worry etched into every line of her face. "I just found him. He was hurt, and I wanted to make sure—"
"Miss," she interjected. "I appreciate your concern, but the rules are the rules. I cannot and will not discuss any patient's condition with you."
The weight of the mask in Lorelei's bag seemed to double, pressing against her ribs like a guilty secret. She couldn't admit to having something that belonged to him. She would look like a thief, and her hands were trembling now. She could feel the eyes of other people in the waiting area, their curiosity prickling against her skin.
"Can you at least tell me if he was discharged?" she tried, grasping at straws. "I don't need a name or details, just—"
"No." The word was delivered with finality, her fingers clicking across the keys with renewed vigor. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Lorelei stood there for a moment longer, her blurry reflection frozen in the polished surface of the reception desk. She could feel the heat of frustration gathering behind her eyes, and she blinked, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
"Right, sorry. Thank you for your time," she managed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
The nurse didn't look up.
Lorelei turned away from the desk and made her way back to the exit. The automatic doors sensed her approach and parted with the same whisper that had greeted her arrival. The cool outside air of spring hit her face, washing away the antiseptic sting and replacing it with the scents of the city—exhaust and rain-soaked concrete, coffee from a nearby café, the green smell of cut grass between buildings.
She stood on the sidewalk, watching the early morning traffic crawl past in its endless dance. Her mission had failed before it had truly begun, leaving her with more questions than answers—and a possible secret that felt too large for her to carry alone.
Her feet carried her away from the hospital without conscious direction, her mind still tangled with the weight of unanswered questions. The city blurred around her as she walked, her camera bag bumping against her hip with each step. She found herself walking past coffee shops, inhaling the rich scent of espresso and bakeries where flour dusted the windows like snow. Her reflection caught in storefront windows as she passed—a pale figure with dark hair escaping from yesterday's ponytail, eyes that somehow looked older than they had been twenty-four hours ago.
After a while, the public park opened before her, its entrance marked by an iron gate that stood open. She stepped inside, where the path led her deeper into the park's heart, past joggers whose breathing came in steady puffs of vapor and dog walkers whose charges strained against their leashes, drawn to interesting smells. A small pond appeared to her left, its surface rippling with the movements of ducks who glided across the water. Lorelei found herself slowing, then stopping entirely as something caught her eye.
A patch of wildflowers had claimed a corner of the park, their blooms a splash of color against the organized landscape. Yellow coreopsis nodded in the breeze alongside purple asters and white feverfew, creating a small wilderness in the midst of human design. And dancing among them, as if summoned by her childhood memories, was a cluster of butterflies.
They moved like living jewels—monarchs with their distinctive orange and black wings, cabbage whites that flickered like scattered paper, and a single swallowtail whose yellow wings bore bold black stripes. Lorelei's breath caught in her throat, her mind flashing suddenly to another butterfly, to another time—outside an Olive Garden at the beach, her nine-year-old hands fumbling with a bright red camera.
Her hand moved to her camera bag without conscious thought, fingers brushing past the concealed monarch mask to find the familiar weight of her camera. It felt warm in her hands as she lifted it slowly, not wanting to startle the delicate creatures, and hung the strap from her neck.
The world narrowed, the chaos of her thoughts focused through the lens. A monarch butterfly filled the frame, its wings spread wide as it balanced on a purple aster bloom. Lorelei's finger found the shutter release, and the camera responded with a soft click that seemed to capture more than just light—it held the moment, made it permanent in a way that memory never could.
She moved carefully, her photographer's instincts taking over as she adjusted her position to catch the light filtering through the trees. The butterflies seemed unbothered by her presence, continuing their graceful dance from flower to flower while she documented their movements. Each shot seemed a small meditation—a moment of pure focus that pushed everything else to the margins of her consciousness.
Until her phone buzzed.
She let her camera hang from her neck as she pulled out her phone, a text from Lucas previewed on the screen:
Can you pick up a box of straws from Candle's? Use the club's card.
She sighed, the weight of everything returning all at once. She typed yes and began to put away her equipment.
It'd been short-lived, but for the first time since the alley, she'd felt like herself again. The camera had always been her way of processing the world, of finding meaning in chaos and beauty in unexpected places. Here, among the flowers and butterflies, the previous night's events had begun to take on some perspective. The mask would eventually find its way back to its owner, she told herself. Until then, she would carry it carefully, protecting it just as she protected the moments she captured through her lens, understanding that some things were too precious to be handled carelessly.