Will stared at the two silhouettes standing just outside his curtained ward. His heart raced wildly in his chest, and for a moment, that was the only thing he could hear. He didn’t know what was going on. How had Tower Intelligence tracked him down so fast? They couldn’t possibly be here for him, could they?

There was a clatter of metal instruments from his right, and Will saw a smaller figure join the two shadows. He strained his ears to hear their rapid discussion and caught snippets of their conversation.

“—Are you sure?” came a gruff voice.

“Yes. I don’t recognize any of them,” said the nurse.

“Hmm. We'll take a look anyway.”

“All of the patients?” asked the nurse.

“Yes.”

“All right then.” The nurse stepped away from the two and opened the curtains to his ward.

Will blinked as the light from the general ward streamed into his cubicle. Standing in front of him were Detective Morrison and his partner, Von-Bron.

Morrison still wore his trademark leather duster, while his assistant was dressed in a suit and tie. Von-Bron held a slate in front of him, which seemed to be the sole focus of the two officers as they muttered about its contents in low voices.

Will sank into his bed, trying to make himself inconspicuous, and the detective gave him a cursory glance. Just as he was about to look away, Morrison did a double take. A flash of recognition crossed his face when their eyes locked, and Will felt his heart sink.

“Anything else we need to add?” asked Von-Bron, but he found the detective distracted. “Sir?”

Morrison had his eyes locked on Will as he addressed the nurse. “Is this your next patient?”

“Yes,” the nurse replied uncertainly, looking at Will.

“Could you give us a moment alone, please?”

“Of course.”

The nurse took her leave, and Will tried not to break under the weight of the withering glares of the two officers, who seemed content to let him sweat while they waited for the nurse's retreating footsteps to fade into the background.

When they were finally alone, Detective Morrison greeted Will with a faux smile. "Well, William," he said, pulling a visitor's chair closer and sitting down. "We seem to keep meeting in the strangest circumstances."

"It appears so," said Will dryly.

"Perils of an exciting life?"

Will tried to keep his face even. "I prefer the quiet."

"Not so quiet today, is it? Five hundred feet from us, the municipal hall is burning. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No."

"And yet here you are, in the presence of some very pleasant company." The detective looked around at the admitted protestors.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time," said Will.

"Indeed? It's curious... you were injured last time as well." Morrison leaned forward and inspected the diagnostic data. "Is that your blood work?"

Will's mouth went dry as the detective checked his medical chart. He didn't have time to double-check the data. If by chance he mixed up an eighty-year-old woman's file with his own, the discrepancy would be obvious.

Morrison gave the chart a scrutinizing look before leaning back in his seat. "Your blood pressure is high. Maybe add more potassium to your diet."

"Yes," Will’s voice cracked. Through the corner of his eye, he saw Von-Bron examining his shoes and personal effects. Will struggled to breathe at the sudden intrusion, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. It was a small blessing that he had disconnected the heart monitor before the cops' arrival.

"So," the detective continued, "how did you end up here?"

Will played dumb. "I was injured."

"No," Von-Bron cut in, "why were you on the twentieth floor?"

"No particular reason," said Will, turning to face the younger officer.

"Were you visiting someone?" asked Morrison.

Will shook his head, trying to think his way out of the question as his eyes darted between both officers. They were trying to shake him up with their rapid-fire questions. He also had a vague impression that Von-Bron was diverting his attention away from his partner for some reason.

Sensing a trap coming, Will decided to flip the dynamic of the conversation and drew on the shard’s power, channeling the skill through his eyes. The world vibrated like a taut string, and time stood still.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Multiple streams of images poured into his mind. In one, he saw Von-Bron step forward, slate in hand, which he unlocked with a few quick taps. Will watched the younger officer’s movements with rapt attention through the many reflective surfaces in the ward. Each tap was read and analyzed until he had the whole password.

1859310.

The number was seared into his memory through the rapid series of images, and Will switched his focus onto Detective Morrison, who had been his original target. Von-Bron’s sudden, big movements were not lost on Will as a draw for his attention. It was a distraction for the older detective to make a move.

Through the corner of his eye, he watched Morrison pull out an odd-looking device with a quick, fluid motion that was barely perceptible, and felt something poke against his leg. It was only for a brief instant, but Will recognized the scanner meant for detecting metallic parts.

The device turned on with a slight hum, and something fluttered against his field, scanning him from head to toe. When it finally reached his leg, it zeroed in on his prosthetic. In the next instant, it—

The skill cut off abruptly, leaving Will reeling. Von-Bron approached him with his slate, and Will felt something poke against his prosthetic, which was the only warning he got for the intrusive scan. Morrison had already withdrawn his hand along with the device.

Will broke out in a cold sweat. If he hadn’t used his skill, he wouldn’t even have noticed. Why were they scanning him for metal?

The answer came to him in a flash as he recalled cyborgs hidden among the protestors, hunting for the doctor. Will looked at the serious faces of the two officers, and his blood went cold. They couldn’t possibly think he had something to do with it, could they?

Will cursed internally as sweat trickled down his brow. Of course they would. It was the only reason they were here.

Something had drawn the police to the hospital, whether by faulty intelligence or an actual sighting, he didn’t know. They found him at the scene of the crime, someone they already suspected of being related to the airship bombings, now caught in unusual circumstances. If they weren’t suspicious, they might as well hand in their badges.

“Well?” Morrison prompted, breaking Will out of his thoughts.

“I wasn’t visiting anyone,” said Will.

Von-Bron held his slate in front of him. “Do you recognize this man?”

Will glanced at the nondescript male on the screen and shook his head.

“I don’t know him,” said Will.

Von-Bron proceeded to flip through pictures of different individuals, none of whom Will recognized. It was only when they reached the final picture that his heart skipped a beat.

It was the cyborg that had attacked him at the Doctor’s place.

Von-Bron paused mid-scroll when he saw the expression on Will’s face and went back to the cyborg.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize him?”

“No,” said Will.

Von-Bron frowned and skipped a few pictures to show him a smiling photograph of Dr. Leibowitz. “How about him?”

“No clue.”

“Is that so?” Von-Bron said coldly.

Morrison leaned forward, and both officers exchanged a glance. Will’s breathing quickened as he tried to keep his face even.

Von-Bron scrolled to another photo, which looked like a still from a video. The picture was grainy, and Will could barely make out the people fleeing from the burning municipal hall. Von-Bron zoomed in and focused on three people in the crowd who wore facemasks and hoods obscuring their faces, but Will immediately recognized Remy, Becca, and the doctor. His breath hitched in his throat, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Do you know who they are?” asked Von-Bron.

“No,” said Will.

“No?” asked Morrison icily.

Will shook his head.

“I see,” said the detective with a grim smile. He slowly got to his feet and offered Will his hand. “It was nice seeing you again, William.”

His cold smile didn’t reach his eyes as he shook Will’s hand. “The same goes for those friends of yours. I’m sure they’re still in the building. Tell them I said hello.”

“I will.”

“Not if I find them first,” Detective Morrison said ominously. Both officers gave the cubicle a cursory glance before stepping out, and the green curtains fluttered shut behind them.

Will's mask fell the moment he was left alone in the ward. His breath came in shallow bursts as he searched for his slate. He had to make a call. He had to warn Remy. If they found him now...

Will dialed the number. The ringtone echoed in his ear, sharp and insistent, but the call went unanswered.

"Come on, pick up," he muttered, glancing quickly at the shifting shadows outside his curtained ward. A chill crept up his spine as the curtains swayed.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, an ominous sense of danger settling in. Something was definitely off. His instincts screamed that he had overlooked something important.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of his ringing slate as his eyes locked on the curtains.

Why had they even bothered closing his ward? It felt almost like...

Eyes wide, Will frantically searched the ward. Seconds ticked by. He yanked at the bed linens, shoving aside medical instruments. Then he spotted it—a slate on top of the diagnoser, tucked behind some wires.

Will stared at Von-Bron’s slate in horror as the ringing in his ear finally stopped.

“Hello?” Remy answered.

Startled, Will cut the call in a flash and snapped back to the partially hidden slate with dread. Grabbing the blanket off the bed, he wrapped it around his hand and picked up the slate, careful not to leave any prints. He quickly typed in the password with the sheet and unlocked the slate to find a sound recording app running.

Will watched the timer on the recorder tick by and sucked in a sharp breath. He had been baited. It was a trap from the beginning. They knew he would call someone the moment they stepped out of the ward.

Will bit back a curse. His eyes darted between the slate and the closed curtains, and a reckless plan started forming. He might never get a chance like this again. After a few seconds of hesitation, he decided to bite the bullet.

Will rummaged through his pockets for a cable and got to work.

▼.▼.▼

Five minutes later, rapid footsteps approached the cubicle, and the curtains were violently yanked open. Will lay still on the bed, pretending to be asleep. He strained his ears, focused on the sharp footsteps headed toward him, and held his breath when they stopped right next to his bedside.

A tense pause followed, and Will felt the heat of a heavy gaze weigh down on him. A few heart-pounding seconds later, there was a rustle from his left, and the footsteps retreated.

Will waited another minute before opening his eyes. The curtains were now wide open, and Von-Bron’s slate was gone.

Will exhaled shakily, tightening his grip on his own slate hidden under the sheet. Throwing aside the covers, he pulled it out and checked its logs.

1038 files transferred.

Eyes ablaze, Will scrolled to the first file and opened it. He quickly read through the file and moved on to the next. The more he read, the more alarmed he grew. He went through dossier after dossier, and a quiet dread crept through him.

Will exited the file reader and dialed Remy again.

"The number you have dialed is unreachable. Please try again later."

Cursing, Will stumbled out of bed, half delirious. He fought through the drug haze and made for the exit. He had to get to Remy and Becca. If what he had read in the documents was accurate, then the Tower had finally gotten a lead against the Bishop. The window for his capture was closing fast, and they had to get to him before the police did.

Because once the Bishop fell, they were next.