Chapter 43
Ambrose was waiting for me at the hospital entrance, his expression slightly worried, dark circles under his eyes.
Without asking questions, I followed him to his consultation room.
Whatever he had to say seemed important, since the office was soundproofed to keep conversations private.
All the consultation offices were like this, following confidentiality regulations to protect patient information.
Once the door was closed, he gestured toward a white armchair and asked me to sit.
His light blue shirt was wrinkled and his hair was messy, as if he'd been running his hands through it constantly.
My palms started to sweat. Ambrose rarely called me in for a conversation like this, and in the past, when he brought me here, it was for scoldings or sensitive matters.
“What's wrong?” I asked, a bit anxious, setting my bag beside the armchair. His blue eyes, always so warm, showed concern. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, watching me with that assessing look he gave his patients.
“I'm trying to figure that out too.” Ambrose folded his hands on the desk.
He seemed reluctant to say what was on his mind.
“I'm not saying it was you. This isn't an accusation, but Kyller, can you explain how two vials of morphine disappeared from the medication room right when you and Adele were responsible for that wing?”
My eyes widened, but before I could speak, Ambrose raised a finger to stop me and continued:
“Yesterday they logged all the medications you took from the room into the system. The notes match, all the saline bags and azithromycin check out, but when they did the daily count of other medications, two vials of morphine were missing.”
I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. Did Ambrose suspect I'd stolen from the hospital?
“I... I don't know, Ambrose. I didn't go near that section. I opened the medication cabinet, but I only took what was requested,” I explained anxiously. By the gods, medication theft was a serious crime. Whoever did this could be expelled from the hospital.
Ambrose studied me, trying to decide what to do with the information.
“The cameras in the room recorded you and Adele at the cabinet. That day, the hallway camera wasn't working—it's always having issues—but the elevator camera caught you getting in looking upset, and your pants were wet. Can you explain what happened?”
And the situation only got worse. How would I explain this part?
If I mentioned the orbs, he'd get suspicious too, just like Zion and Adele.
There was no way I could tell him about the apparition—he'd definitely think I was on drugs.
I reached for my necklace to calm myself, but it wasn't there. I didn't know what to say.
“Listen, sweetheart,” he began, his tone softening. “You can tell me anything. We'll figure it out—you know there's always a way. And if something's wrong, you can trust me.”
I took a deep breath, my heart aching to see him like this.
So I decided to tell him what happened that day—every detail, from the strange sensation to the orbs to the apparition.
Ambrose listened quietly, absorbing everything.
Finally, I told him about bumping into Zion and how he'd searched for whatever was down there but found nothing.
I waited for him to speak, but Ambrose just looked at me, intrigued.
“Say something, Am. I'm going to have a panic attack if you just keep staring at me.” I fidgeted with my hands.
“Swear you didn't steal the vials?” he asked, his voice serious.
“I swear on my life.” I pressed my closed fist against my heart.
Ambrose studied me for a long moment. Then he stood up, and I watched apprehensively as he came around the desk and pulled me up from the armchair into a tight hug. I didn't understand what was happening.
“Oh, my gods, Kay,” he said, burying his face in my hair and sniffling.
“I was so worried. I couldn't sleep last night thinking about this—that maybe you still wanted to commit suicide, that you wanted to leave me.
I don't know if I could bear living thinking I failed you, that I wasn't there when you needed me.”
As his words sank in, my heart, already tight, seemed to shrink until it wanted to disappear in my chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him close, needing the hug just as much as he did.
“Of course I'm not planning anything like that, Ambrose. I have no reason to want to leave. You, Lorenzo, Breno, Kiara, and... Zion. You're my anchor in this world, and I would never leave you by choice.”
He pulled back a little and cupped my face in his hands, smoothing my hair back. Then he planted a kiss on my forehead and gazed at me for a long moment. His eyes were filled with relief.
“Don't judge me for worrying too much. I love you so much,” he murmured, and I rubbed his back soothingly.
“I know you do, Am. I love you too. You were the first person I let myself love.” I pulled back a little, taking his hands and kissing them softly.
“You're my miracle, Am. You were the one who saved me when it seemed impossible, but it wasn't on that operating table that you brought my life back. It was day after day—when you snuck me chocolate, when you took me to see the world, when you taught me everything about medicine. You saved me, and I would never give up on that.”
A tear rolled down from his right eye, and he hugged me again. Ambrose smelled of cigarettes, antiseptic, and starched clothes. I had no idea where he'd gotten this crazy idea that I was going to kill myself.
“Aren’t you worried about what I said about the hallway?” I asked, pulling away.
He wiped his tears and pulled a tissue from his pocket to blow his nose.
“I was more worried about you, but despite how insane it sounds, what you told me makes sense. Some nurses say they feel a different energy down there. They think it’s spirits hovering near the bodies by the morgue. You know how humans are with their religion-fueled fears.”
“But what about the lights?”
“They’ve been acting up for a month now. Sometimes they just go out and come back on. They told me it might be some kind of electrical interference, but they still haven’t found the cause.”
Ambrose settled into his chair, calmer this time.
The explanation didn’t convince me one bit.
What I saw wasn’t a coincidence—I felt that thing in the hallway was after me.
But I wouldn’t raise any more alarms. After all, we had the morphine problem to deal with, and if it wasn’t me, it could only be one person.
The thought flooded me with overwhelming sadness.
If it really was Adele, then my suspicions were true, and I needed to talk to her immediately.
“Has Adele arrived at the hospital yet?” I asked anxiously.
“Selene is talking to her. The hospital administration requested toxicology tests for both of you. They want to rule out any morphine dependency, so we’ll take you both to the lab right now.”
He looked at his wristwatch.
“In fact, it’s time. Shall we?”
Ambrose stood up and I followed him out the door.
We walked in silence through the crowded hallways.
The vibrio outbreak had passed, and the hospital had returned to its usual cacophony of sounds, patients, murmurs, and the smell of cleaning products.
When we arrived at the laboratory, Selene and Adele were already seated, waiting for us.
I could see the shock on Ambrose’s face when he noticed Adele’s dark circles.
They looked worse than the day before—her skin was so pale it had turned grayish in the archemical light.
The elmedic was holding a phone to her ear, apparently arguing with whoever was on the other end, gesticulating as if deeply frustrated. Adele looked like a corpse beside her, growing paler by the minute.
“Do whatever you want, Mr. Ivanov. Good afternoon.” The elmedic hung up with a huff and sat down stiffly beside Adele.
We sat in silence while a nurse came to draw blood.
I tried desperately not to stare at Adele, but it was impossible.
Her hair was neatly brushed and held back by shiny clips, her impeccable nails painted blood red, and her black clothes, as always, were perfectly pressed—but her eyes looked glassy.
There was no makeup to hide that kind of pain.
Δ
“They didn’t find anything—not in your blood or Adele’s. Well, in Adele’s they found other substances, like alcohol and green herb, but everything was within legal limits,” Ambrose said two hours later.
He’d been called in by his superiors and was now filling me in.
Based on the report, I didn’t know whether to feel tense or relieved, because if they hadn’t found anything in Adele’s blood, it meant two things: first, this didn’t eliminate me as a suspect, and second, if Adele wasn’t dependent on morphine, she could only have stolen the vials for something bigger.
Morphine is a potent analgesic, but in high doses it can also sedate.
Normally we used one vial to medicate up to ten patients with phantom pain during post-op.
An entire vial injected into the bloodstream would be enough to anesthetize a feeric’s body, but it’s a conscious sedation—the person still has awareness and can move, despite not feeling anything.
Two vials could send the body into shock, causing cardiac arrest and respiratory collapse.
“And what’s going to happen now?” I asked anxiously.
I didn’t want to tell Ambrose what I knew about Adele—it felt wrong to share something so personal—but I was running out of options.
“Orders are for both of you to stay away from the hospital until the psychic examination. It was supposed to happen today, but Adele’s uncle filed an injunction.”
“What? What do you mean? I won’t be able to do my internship?” I jumped up and stood in front of his desk. “This isn’t right, Ambrose. I didn’t do anything.”