Page 136 of Whispers in the Dark
Outside the ICU room,Ethan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the heart monitor readout through the glass. Brad stood beside him, quiet as he watched Charlotte.
Noah paced behind them, phone in hand, going over a list of more warrants and briefs with his assistant. Their arrests were spiraling.
Inside Room 3, 11:08 a.m.
Charlotte’s eyes closed and opened. Silence held for a long moment, the sound of Alex’s heart monitor steadying her own breath. She took his hand, gently now, the way you held something that went through fire. She wondered if he would understand.
“It's over,” she whispered. “The site’s gone. The others are safe. Elias… he gave us everything. He saved you, Alex. But I think you saved all of us too.”
His fingers didn’t twitch, but she wasn’t expecting them to. She sat back in the chair and let the silence hold her.
Then, just as she started to drift into the oblivion of sleep, Alex stirred. His lips parted, voice barely audible, “…Charlotte?”
She gasped, then leaned in. “I’m here,” she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open, slowly, painfully, but they opened and found her. For a beat, he just stared. Like she was something impossible. “You came.”
Tears spilled down her face instantly. She smiled through them, laughing once in a cracked breath. “So did you.”
He tried to smile. It barely made it to the corner of his mouth. “Did we win?”
“We did.” She brushed hair from his forehead. “You can rest now. You don’t have to run anymore.”
Alex let out a long breath, eyes drifting closed again. But he didn’t fall asleep right away.
His hand gripped hers tighter.
Charlotte let her head rest against the bed, not in fear, not in grief, but in quiet, unbreakable relief. Alex Marcel had come home. And so had she.
Forty-Four
Blackwell Institute Grounds, May 16, 7:14 a.m.
The morning air was soft,full of green and warmth. Spring had finally woken up in Waverly County—slow, patient, but definitely here. Trees along the walking paths behind the Blackwell Institute had leafed out in delicate greens. Garden beds were being turned by volunteers. From where Charlotte sat, she could smell damp earth and something blooming nearby—maybe lilac or honeysuckle.
She was under the old cedar tree outside the trauma wing, coffee mug balanced on her knee, thumb slowly turning the flash drive over in her palm. The original one. Elias’s. She hadn’t handed it in. DOJ had what they needed from Noah’s copy, but this one felt heavier. Realer. Noah gave it back like he understood why she might need to hold on to it a little longer.
Ethan stood, stretching like the bench had cramped his legs. “I should get back,” he said, nodding. “When you’re ready.”
She didn’t answer, just gave him a quiet look. He understood. He’d done what he said he would—blew the whistle, cracked the system from the inside. He handed everything over: footage,internal memos, dark budget trails. It wasn’t the trauma that turned heads; it was the money. But once the headlines hit, once the right people got nervous, the silence finally broke.
The glass doors behind her slid open with a soft hiss. Gravel crunched. She didn’t need to look.
Alex.
He moved slower now, but not like before, not like someone broken. Just someone healing. Figuring out what normal felt like again. The shadows under his eyes had eased. His shoulders sat lower, easier. His forearms were still bandaged, but he wore jeans and a plain black T-shirt like the world wasn’t trying to own him anymore.
“I figured you’d be out here,” he said, voice rough but familiar.
Ethan clapped his shoulder on the way out. “Whenever you’re ready, the dance studio is ours alone.”
Charlotte smiled, watching him ease down next to her. “You always find me.”
“I have a talent.” He leaned back, eyes on the trees. “James cleared me to walk unassisted.”
She raised a brow. “You tell Noah?”
“God, no. I’m getting at least two more days of sympathy meals out of him.”
