Gareth felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. He looked at Elara’s serene face, her chest rising and falling in mechanical rhythm. The machines were her lifeline, but what if they were also her chains? The notion was absurd, yet something in Callan’s eyes, the urgency of his voice, lingered.
Riona touched Gareth’s shoulder. “He’s just a kid, Gareth. He doesn’t understand.”
But Gareth barely heard her. His mind was racing, replaying the boy’s words: “Don’t trust those closest to her.” What did he mean? And how could a street child know intimate details about his daughter’s life?
That night, as the hospital quieted, Gareth shadowed the corridors in search of answers. He found Callan outside, seated on the curb, a lone figure in the city’s endless hum.
When Callan saw Gareth approach, hope flickered in his weary eyes.
“Why?” Gareth asked softly. “Why should I believe you?”
