He didn't touch the badge.
It stayed on the dashboard the whole night, catching light from passing cars like an accusation that refused to blink.
By morning, his jaw ached from clenching.
"I won't," he said aloud in the empty apartment. "I won't become that."
The silence listened.
His phone buzzed.
Not the unknown number.
A real one.
HOSPITAL ADMIN
His stomach tightened.
He answered. "Hello?"
There was a pause—too long.
"Mr. ——," a woman said carefully, "we need you to come in."
"For what?" he asked.
Another pause.
"There's been… an incident."
The word landed wrong.
"What kind of incident?"
"I can't discuss it over the phone," she replied. "Please come as soon as possible."
The call ended.
The badge seemed heavier somehow.
The hospital was chaos.
Not loud—controlled chaos. Tight faces. Whispered conversations that stopped when he walked past. Security near the elevators.
Something had happened.
He felt it in his bones.
They led him to a small conference room. No windows. Just a table and three chairs. Two were already occupied.
The doctor sat on one side.
Dr. Samuel R——.
Alive. Unhurt. Pale.
The other chair held a man he didn't recognize—tall, broad-shouldered, eyes hollowed out by something old and brutal.
The man didn't look at him.
The administrator gestured for him to sit. "Thank you for coming."
His eyes stayed on the stranger in the room. "Why am I here?"
The administrator cleared her throat. "Dr. Samuel authorized a delay in treatment weeks ago. You were directly affected."
"Yes," he said coldly. "I know."
Her fingers tightened around a folder. "Early this morning, someone confronted him."
The room felt smaller.
"Confronted how?" he asked.
The doctor swallowed hard.
"He followed me to the parking structure," Samuel said quietly. "He said… he said I killed his family."
The other man finally looked up.
His eyes were red. Not angry. Empty.
"He didn't deny it," the man said flatly.
His heart stuttered.
"What happened?" he asked.
The administrator hesitated. "There was an altercation."
The man's jaw tightened. "I didn't touch him."
Samuel flinched.
"I swear," the man continued. "I wanted to. But I didn't."
"Then why am I here?" he demanded.
The administrator slid the folder across the table.
Inside were photos. Not violent. Just aftermath.
A car.
Twisted metal.
Samuel's hands began to shake.
"I tried to drive away," the doctor whispered. "I panicked."
The room went silent.
"He didn't die," the administrator said quickly. "But he's in critical condition."
Critical.
The word echoed.
The man stood abruptly. "So I lose my family. He signs a paper. And somehow I'm the monster?"
Security shifted near the door.
"No one is saying that," the administrator said weakly.
The man laughed once. Sharp. Broken. "You're all saying that."
He turned to him then. Studied him.
"You," he said. "You lost someone too."
His throat closed.
"Yes."
The man nodded slowly. "Then you understand."
He wanted to say no.
He couldn't.
The man stepped back, hands raised as security approached. "I didn't touch him," he repeated. "But heaven didn't stop me either."
They took him away.
Silence settled over the room.
Samuel stared at his hands.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," the doctor whispered. "I was just following protocol."
Protocol.
Permission.
Waiting.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He didn't look.
The administrator exhaled shakily. "You can go."
He stood.
As he reached the door, Samuel spoke.
"I didn't mean for anyone to die," the doctor said.
He turned.
"My wife didn't mean to die either," he replied quietly.
Outside, the air felt wrong—too still.
He pulled out his phone.
One message waited.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
You see now.
Refusal doesn't stop the outcome.
His hands trembled.
You offered him, he typed. Not me.
The reply came slow.
I offered you the choice.
He made his own.
His chest burned. "This is on you."
The dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then—
No, the message returned.
This is on the silence.
He looked up at the hospital windows, lights glowing like distant stars.
He understood then.
The stranger didn't need his consent.
Only his hesitation.