Chapter 17 Adela
I stand in front of my mirror at six in the morning, staring at the girl looking back at me.
She's not crying anymore. Her eyes are still swollen from last night, but her jaw is set. Her shoulders are straight. She's wearing black jeans and a simple sweater that covers her wrists — nothing special, nothing that screams grieving girlfriend. Because that's not who I'm going to be today.
Today, I'm closing a chapter.
My phone buzzes on the dresser. Beckett. He left early and promised he would come back.
I'm outside.
I grab my keys and leave without looking back at the pillow we shared on the floor, at the scissors still sitting on my desk, at the space where the laptop used to be.
When I step outside, he's leaning against his car, and the morning light makes the bruises on his face look worse somehow.
Purple and yellow are spreading across his cheekbones.
His lip is still swollen. He straightens when he sees me, and there's something in the way he moves — careful, protective, hovering just slightly closer than necessary.
I notice.
But I don't comment.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod and slide into the passenger seat.
The drive to the hospital is quiet. Beckett doesn't try to fill the silence with small talk or reassurances. He drives, one hand on the wheel, occasionally glancing over at me like he's checking to make sure I'm still holding it together.
I am.
I think that worries him more than if I were falling apart. I don’t know how to explain it other than the look in his eyes when I catch him watching me.
The hospital comes into view. We park in the same lot where Beckett found me crying in my car just days ago. A lifetime ago.
I get out before he can come around to open my door.
Beckett falls into step beside me, close enough that our arms almost touch as we enter the building. We walk past the waiting room and into another place where I can talk to a nurse.
I focus on keeping my breathing steady. I've rehearsed what I'm going to say to Cody. How I'm going to stand beside his bed and tell him exactly what I think of him. How I'm going to say goodbye to the lie I've been living.
“I’m here to visit Cody Ravenshaw.”
She looks at her screen and opens the door for us.
“Thank you.”
I walk down the familiar hallway, past the nurses' station where they've started to recognize me. Past the other rooms.
To room 447.
The door is open.
I stop in the doorway, and the world tilts sideways.
The bed is empty.
Stripped bare, mattress exposed. The machines that kept him breathing are gone. The monitors that tracked his heartbeat — gone. The IV stand — gone. Even the chair I used to sit in while I cried and begged him to wake up has been removed.
"Where is he?" My voice comes out flat.
Beckett steps up beside me, his hand finding the small of my back. "Adela—"
A nurse appears from around the corner — not one I recognize. Younger, uncomfortable, avoiding my eyes.
"Can I help you?" she asks, but her tone suggests she knows exactly who I am and why I'm here.
"Where's Cody Ravenshaw?" I ask. "He was in this room."
She shifts her weight, glancing past me like she's looking for backup. "He was transferred."
"Transferred where?"
A pause. Long enough to be significant.
"I'm not authorized to disclose that information."
The words hit differently than I don't know would have. This isn't ignorance. This is an obstruction.
"What do you mean you're not authorized?" My voice stays level, but something cold is spreading through my chest. "I'm his girlfriend. I've been visiting him every day since he got here."
"I understand, but his family requested the transfer, and they've asked for privacy during this time."
Beckett's hand presses slightly firmer against my back. "Maybe his family wanted privacy," he offers, his tone reasonable and logical. "Given everything that's happened."
I glance at him, and he's looking at the nurse, not at me. Something about that bothers me, but I can't put my finger on why.
"I want to speak to someone in charge," I say, turning back to the nurse.
She nods. "I'll get the administrator."
I stand in the empty room while we wait, staring at the stripped bed and processing what’s happening and why Judge Ravenshaw wouldn’t communicate this to me.
"Adela." Beckett's voice pulls me back. "You okay?"
"Fine." I'm not fine. I'm calculating and connecting dots that don't quite form a complete picture yet.
He was just transferred. Right after the attack in my dorm. Right after they took the laptop. Right after everything went to hell.
This wasn't Judge Ravenshaw.
Footsteps approach, and a woman in a navy pantsuit appears in the doorway. Mid-fifties, perfectly professional, the kind of polished that comes from years of navigating hospital politics.
"Ms. Kalkaska?" She extends her hand. "I'm Catherine Morrison, the hospital administrator. I understand you have questions about Mr. Ravenshaw's transfer."
I don't shake her hand. "Where is he?"
She lowers her hand, unfazed. "I'm afraid that's confidential information. The transfer was made at the family's request due to the sensitive nature of the case. They've asked for complete discretion."
"Sensitive nature," I repeat. "What does that mean?"
"Given Judge Ravenshaw's position and the ongoing investigation into his son's assault, the family felt it was best to move him to a private facility where security could be better maintained." Each word is carefully chosen, politically coded.
"What private facility?"
"I can't disclose that."
"Can't or won't?"
Her expression doesn't change. "I'm sorry, Ms. Kalkaska. I know this must be difficult, but my hands are tied. This was a legal request processed through the proper channels."
Legal request. Proper channels.
"Who authorized the transfer?" I press.
"The patient's next of kin. His father."
I pull out my phone and dial Judge Ravenshaw's number right there in front of her. It rings once, then goes straight to voicemail.
I try again.
Same thing.
Blocked.
I'm being locked out.
The administrator watches me with professional sympathy that doesn't reach her eyes. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No." The word comes out cold. Final.
She nods and leaves, her heels clicking against the floor.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the empty bed. Then I turn and walk past Beckett toward the door.
"Adela, wait—"
But I'm already moving down the hallway, back toward the nurses' station. The young nurse from earlier is there, typing something into the computer. She looks up when I approach, her expression wary.
"I'm sorry I can't be more helpful," she starts, but I'm not here for apologies.
My eyes scan the desk behind her — the clipboards, the transfer logs, the scattered paperwork that hospitals never seem to keep properly organized. And there, half-hidden beneath a patient chart, I see it.
A transfer form with Cody's name.
The destination facility is partially visible: Evergreen Private Medical—
The rest is covered, but it's enough.
I commit it to memory, turning away before the nurse notices what I'm looking at.
Beckett catches up to me. "What were you doing?"
"Nothing." I press the button to open the doors.
He studies my face, and I can see him trying to read me, trying to figure out if I'm about to fall apart or do something reckless.
I'm not going to do either.
"If they think moving him fixes this," I say quietly, "they're wrong."
Beckett looks at me. "What are you going to do?"
The doors open, and I step into the parking lot and keep walking.
"If I can't get answers from him," I say without looking back, "I'll get them from someone else."
"Like who?"
I stop and turn to face him. "Whoever moved him."
Something flickers across his face. Concern, maybe. Or fear.
"Adela, that could be dangerous."
"Good." I open the car door. "I'm done being careful."
As Beckett walks around to the driver's side, I see him pull out his phone. His expression is unreadable, but his jaw is tight.
“I need to get to practice.”
I look away, staring out the window at the gray Seattle morning.
“Then get to practice.”
Evergreen Private Medical. That's where I start.
Someone moved Cody in the middle of the night. Someone with enough power to arrange transfers, block phone calls, and tell hospital administrators to keep their mouths shut.
Someone who wants me to stop looking.
But I'm done asking for answers.
Now I'm taking them.