The wind was colder up here.
Julian leaned against the railing, eyes sweeping across the city — the hospital parking lot glowing under sodium lamps, sirens wailing somewhere far. For a minute, he just breathed in. Then something sharp hit his nose.
He turned. "Wait… you smoking?"
Sara didn't answer right away. The ember at her fingers flared as she exhaled. "What else do you see?"
Julian blinked. "Thought you hated this kind of thing."
"Still do." She let the smoke roll from her lips. "But whatever keeps me going."
He nodded to himself. He understood that more than he wanted to. "Since when?"
"Last month, I guess." Her tone wasn't defensive — just tired.
"Last month, huh…" He studied her from the corner of his eye. The wind caught her hair, the glow from the cigarette edging her profile in red.
"You look thinner," he muttered, almost to himself. "Like a branch that used to be a big-ass tree."
She shot him a glare. "Are you saying I was fat before?"
"What? No—" he raised both hands, half-laughing. "Guess I'm bad at metaphors."
Sara didn't bother replying. She just flicked the ash off the terrace ledge and stared out toward the skyline.
"Maybe you should take a break," Julian said after a beat. "Get some rest."
"Yeah," she said softly, tossing the cigarette down. "But we don't get that kind of luxury. Our work doesn't come with days off."
He smiled faintly. "You got that right. The moment we step off the stage—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed, a different thought clawing its way up.
"Hey, Sara," he said finally.
She turned, eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"
"This ghost we've been chasing…" He looked back out at the city, the endless vehicles running over the streets like a ant army on the march.
"It's wasting our time, isn't it?"
Sara's gaze lingered on him. Then she exhaled through her nose, barely a whisper.
"Yeah," she said. "Wasting time."
Julian's grin returned, faint and deliberate.
"Exactly."
Julian placed the piece first.
"Family arrived twenty minutes after the call," he said, eyes still fixed on the city below. "By then, everything was done — the doctors, the failed surgery, the cleanup. Hector was already knocking on heaven's door. The theft happened somewhere in that window."
Sara's head turned slightly. "I'm listening."
"So think about it," he went on, tone sharpening. "If you suspect anyone who was with Hector until he died, it's too neat. Too easy. One of them being a thief? Doesn't click. Whoever did it had to be an outsider… but one who knew the accident had happened — maybe even that it would happen."
Sara's brows furrowed. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying," Julian cut in, pacing a step, "if I assume everyone in that room was clean — the surgeon, the nurses, the paramedics — then the only option left is someone who works around them. Someone trusted. Someone invisible."
He tapped the railing with a finger. "Trust builds invisibility, you know that?"
Sara crossed her arms. "So what — someone waltzed into an emergency room, took the blood, and just poofed out?"
Julian glanced at her, the ghost of a grin forming. "Not just anyone. Someone who's done it before."
Sara sighed, tilting her head back. "So now we're questioning everyone? Great. Count me out."
Julian shook his head. "No. I've got a better plan."
Her eyes narrowed. "Which is?"
He smiled, that reckless kind that always meant trouble.
"Who cares if we don't get days off. They get."
He turned toward the stairwell, coat shifting with the wind.
"We'll start with thier attendance records. Let's see how much they are consistent."
---
INT. RECORDS ROOM –
Julian scrolled through the computer log, finger tracing columns of names.
"District 7 paramedic unit," he muttered, scanning columns. "Halden… Mira… Sethi…" His finger stopped midway down.
Then — a faint smirk.
"Here we go. Rachel."
"Rachel who?" Sara asked, leaning in.
He squinted at the scrawl. "Rachel Kovac. Two days absent before the accident. Came back that night — no work. Nothing. Invisible. Left in perfect schedule. Tommorow 10 am."
Sara frowned. "Looks like it."
"Exactly." He tapped the page. "She stayed. Did her work. And poof. Vanish."
Sara exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Perfect."
Julian shut the dekstop with a single tap. "Let's see if our good doctor remembers the ghost on his payroll."
INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE –
Dr. Nair looked exhausted when they stepped in again. His sleeves were rolled up, a fresh cup of coffee steaming beside him.
"Doctor," Julian began, tossing the logbook lightly onto the table. "Rachel Kovac. Ring a bell?"
Dr. Nair blinked, searching his memory. "Rachel… yes, yes, the nurse."
Julian leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. "Tell me what you know about her."
The doctor hesitated. "Quiet type. Professional. Didn't talk much, but good at her work. Hard worker I'd say."
Sara exchanged a glance with Julian. "And?"
"And?." The doctor looked between them now, suddenly uneasy. "Is she in trouble?"
Julian's tone softened, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just say… she's in the middle of something, and we're trying to figure out which side of the line she's standing on."
The doctor swallowed hard, uncertain whether to say more or not. "Halden knew her the best i think."
Julian. "Well bring her in and start again."
Sara closed the file. "Thanks, doctor. You've helped enough."
The hospital had grown quieter after dusk. Only the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional echo of wheels on tile drifted through the walls.
Halden sat in a plastic chair opposite Julian and Sara. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. Her hands wrapped around a paper cup, knuckles white, steam rising into the stale air. Her badge was tilted sideways on her scrub collar, a faint coffee stain marking one corner.
Julian broke the silence first, his voice light but too deliberate.
"Well, here we are again. And really, you don't have to be so tense. You—no one—has done anything wrong."
Halden looked up briefly, uncertain whether to believe him. "Dr. Nair said you wanted to ask about Rachel?"
Julian nodded. "That's right."
"Why?" Her voice quivered. "She hasn't done anything wrong. Rachel's one of the good ones—quiet, hardworking, dependable. She covers shifts for people who call in sick. You can't seriously think she's—"
"Relax," Julian said softly, smiling just enough to disarm her. "We're not here to hang anyone. Just talk."
He leaned back, tapping his finger lightly on the table. "But tell me something… your friend, the model nurse—why did she suddenly take three days off?"
Halden blinked. "Three days?"
Sara unfolded her arms. "We have the attendance record, Miss Halden. Two absences. Then she reappears the night of the accident."
Halden inhaled sharply. "It wasn't sudden. She'd been… off. Tired all the time, zoning out mid-shift. I asked if she was okay—she said she was fine, just overworked. You know how it gets here."
Julian nodded, letting her fill the silence.
"But that week," Halden continued, "she seemed scared. Not nervous—scared. I remember she dropped a vial one night. It shattered, and she just stood there staring at it like it was the end of the world. I told her to go home. Next day, she fainted."
Sara tilted her head. "Fainted?"
"Nothing major," Halden said quickly. "Low fever. But she wouldn't rest. Told me, 'If I stop moving, I'll start thinking again.' She wouldn't say what that meant."
Julian's eyes flicked toward Sara, then back. "And then?"
"She finally agreed to leave. Said someone would come get her." Halden rubbed her wrist, remembering. "It was late, after the shift. A man came—said he was her relative. I didn't see his face clearly, but his voice was calm. Too calm."
"Too calm?" Julian echoed, watching her reaction.
Halden nodded. "It's silly, but… he smiled when he saw me. Like he already knew who I was. That night she left with him, and after that…" she trailed off.
Julian leaned back again, the chair creaking. "You haven't heard from her since?"
"She came back that night. The night of the accident. I can tell she's not fully recovered, but... I guess it is what it is. After that, things were normal. She worked, then went home. Back to work the next day. She should be here after ten, if I'm not mistaken."
Julian smiled internally. "I don't think so."
Sara scribbled something in her notebook. "Did she have friends here? Anyone she trusted besides you?"
Halden hesitated. "Not really. She kept to herself."
Julian drummed his fingers once on the tabletop, the rhythm steady — one, two, three. Then his tone changed, softer, deliberate.
"You know, Miss Halden," he said, "I think I'm starting to like your friend Rachel."
Halden blinked. "What do you mean?"
"She sounds… interesting." Julian's smile was thin, unreadable. "Quiet ones always are."
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the table. The screen glowed faintly between them.
"Could you do me a favor?" His voice was calm — too calm. "Type in her number. Maybe her address too. I want to meet her personally and clear things up a bit."
Halden's fingers hesitated in midair. Something in his tone — the mix of authority and kindness — made her chest tighten. But before she realized it, her hands were already moving, keying in the digits one by one. The address. The name. Her thumb hovered for a second… then pressed send.
A faint beep filled the room.
She looked up — but the two seats across from her were empty.
The door was half open, swinging slightly from the air conditioner's hum. Julian's untouched coffee cup sat on the desk, rippling faintly from the vibration. Sara's perfume still lingered in the air, light and fleeting.
Halden stared down at the glowing phone in her hands.
The numbers on the screen blurred together — a string of digits she suddenly wished she hadn't remembered.