Everything was dim.
Beeping. A soft hiss of oxygen. The smell of antiseptic.
Aiden stirred slightly, breath hitching as pain bloomed in his ribs and shoulder. His eyes fluttered open, just enough to catch the sterile white of the ceiling tiles above.
Something tugged at his arm—an IV line.
The rest of him felt like wet cement.
Where…
Then he heard it. Muffled voices. Just outside the door.
"—was reckless, Edward shouldn't have exposed himself," said a woman, icy, controlled. Rosalie.
"He didn't have a choice," came a calm, measured voice. Male. "The van would've crushed the girl."
"He should've let it," Rosalie snapped. "Now two people saw. Two. And one of them's him."
Aiden's eyes flicked toward the half-open door. He could barely make out the edge of a white coat through the glass.
Carlisle Cullen.
"Rosalie," Carlisle said firmly. "Keep your voice down. He's still unconscious."
Aiden's pulse spiked.
No, he wasn't.
He tried to lift his head, to sit up—mistake. A shock of white-hot pain lit up his ribs and collarbone. A dull groan escaped him before he could stop it.
The voices stopped.
Then footsteps.
His heart raced, but before he could even process what they might say next, something cold surged through the IV line. His vision tunneled. Limbs heavy.
Not yet, he wanted to say.
But darkness pulled him under again.
[Four hours later…]
Aiden's fingers twitched against the rough hospital blanket.
His mind was screaming—get up, say something, remember everything—but his body had other plans.
A soft click echoed near his head. Aiden's blurry eyes half-opened, just enough to see Carlisle's silhouette moving toward the machines. The gentle hiss of an IV drip grew louder in his ears.
Sedative... they're keeping me down.
He didn't know if it was standard hospital procedure or something intentional, but the warmth spreading through his veins was undeniable. Heavy. Inevitable.
Carlisle leaned over, checking his chart, too calm. Too precise.
"You'll be okay," Carlisle murmured, almost to himself. "You need rest."
Aiden's lips parted like he might speak, but no words came. Just the dry click of his tongue, too sluggish to form a question. A protest. Anything.
Carlisle paused.
For a second, their eyes met.
Aiden's barely open, glazed. Carlisle's calm, calculating. Not cruel—but not normal.
"Sleep," Carlisle said gently, placing a cool hand briefly on Aiden's wrist. "We'll talk when you're ready."
The last thing Aiden saw before the shadows swallowed him again… was Rosalie, just outside the door. Her arms crossed, jaw tight. Eyes locked on him like she couldn't decide if he was a problem to solve—or something she had no idea how to deal with.
Then—Darkness.