Page 47 of Grim

“And you won’t give me anything,” she said, voice rising. “Not one piece of yourself. How am I supposed to trust someone who won’t trust me?”

Still nothing. She wasn’t used to silence being a weapon. In her family, everything was loud, love, anger, joy, frustration. Grim’s quiet felt like a door slamming shut. She felt something inside her crack. “Pull over.”

He didn’t.

“Pull. Over.”

He pulled into the hospital parking lot. Before he could say a word, she grabbed her bag and slammed the door behind her. She didn’t look back.

Sophia stormed into the hospital, cheeks flushed, chest tight. She badged into the ICU and forced herself to breathe. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright, too cold, too indifferent to the tightness in her chest.

Amanda met her at the nurse’s station, eyes tired. “Hey. You okay?”

“Fine,” Sophia lied. “What’s going on with Reyes?”

Amanda’s expression fell. “He’s failing. We don’t think he’ll make it through the night.”

Sophia’s stomach dropped. She nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll check on him.”

She went through her shift mechanically, meds, vitals, charting, but her mind kept drifting to the waiting room.

To him. To the man who refused to let her in. Every time she passed the glass window, she saw him. Sitting there. Drinking terrible hospital coffee. Checking his phone. Watching the doors. Watching her. He was sitting exactly where she’d left him, like he hadn’t moved, like he’d been holding the whole damn night together with his bare hands.

Why wouldn’t he open up? Why wouldn’t he trust her? Why did she care so much?

Maybe she was imagining everything. Maybe he didn’t feel anything for her. Maybe she was just a job. A responsibility. A burden. Maybe she was a fool.

Near the end of her shift, Reyes’s vitals plummeted.

Sophia rushed into his room. His heart rate was erratic, dropping dangerously low. His breathing was shallow, uneven. She thought she heard him mumbling.

“Reyes?” Sophia whispered, leaning close. “Can you hear me?”

His eyelids fluttered.

She leaned closer. “Talk to me. Please.”

His lips moved.

She bent down, ear near his mouth.

One word.

“Elena.”

Then the monitor flatlined.

Sophia hit the code button. The room filled with people. Hands moved. Voices shouted. They called time of death. Sophia stepped back, her throat tight, her eyes burning. She finished her shift in silence.

She kept replaying the moment he whispered “Elena,” wondering if she’d missed something, if she could’ve done more, even though she knew she couldn’t. The word clung to her like a bruise.

Grim was waiting outside when she walked out. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. She got into the car. He drove.

The silence was suffocating.

When Grim pulled into her driveway, Sophia finally spoke. “Reyes didn’t make it.”

Grim’s hands tightened on the wheel.