Rania stood frozen for a moment, bent forward with her hands braced against her knees. Her breathing came in ragged bursts. Her eyes were wide, her face drained of all color, as though the blood had fled her body.
Her voice trembled.
"What just happened?"
She looked at Jacob in disbelief.
"Who was that man? Why did he take Houssam?"
Jacob's jaw tightened, rage burning beneath the surface.
"He was searching for something."
His fists clenched.
"And he found it on Houssam."
He swallowed hard.
"Then he just took him. Right in front of us. Like we were nothing."
A heavy silence followed.
Jacob sank to the ground, buried his face in his hands, then looked up toward the night sky.
His voice broke.
"He was in pain… I saw it before he collapsed."
He shook his head.
"And I thought he was joking."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"I thought he was fine."
Tears spilled down Rania's cheeks.
"And he asked me for forgiveness."
Her voice cracked.
"And I didn't give it."
She lowered herself beside Jacob, leaving only inches between them.
"I let him walk away without one last chance."
For a while, neither of them moved.
Then she whispered:
"We should never have let him go."
Her eyes closed.
"We shouldn't have laughed."
Her voice turned hollow.
"He was drowning inside… and we were smiling."
Jacob slowly raised his head and met her gaze.
"This is on us."
Silence returned thick with guilt, confusion, and fear.
Then Rania spoke again, softly, but with steel hidden beneath the words.
"I won't abandon him."
Her fists tightened.
"I won't let them hurt himanymore."
She turned to Jacob.
"We have to find a way to bring him back."
Jacob wiped his face and rose.
"I swear it."
His voice hardened.
"We'll get him back no matter the cost."
Minutes passed.
Jacob and Rania lay on the grass, staring upward at a sky scattered with stars like sesame seeds across dark cloth. A painful silence stretched between them until it was broken by the sound of an approaching engine.
A black 2020 Honda Civic rolled to a stop nearby.
A young man stepped out first—around twenty-six, handsome, calm, easy in his movements.
Then a soft and playful voice called from the driver's side.
"Need a ride, lovebirds?"
Jacob and Rania jumped to their feet and answered in perfect unison:
"Yes, thank you!"
Then both added immediately:
"And we're just friends!"
The young man laughed.
"Sure you are."
He gestured toward himself and the driver.
"We're also just friends."
They climbed into the car.
Jacob and Rania took the back seat, while the man settled beside the driver.
For a moment, silence returned.
Then Jacob leaned forward.
"Where do we start?"
He glanced at Rania.
"We can't just let Houssam disappear."
Rania thought for a moment.
"The hospital."
She spoke with certainty.
"He collapsed right in front of us. That man may have taken him there."
Jacob turned to the driver.
"Please. Nearest hospital."
She smiled and winked at him through the mirror.
"You got it, handsome."
Then her smile softened.
"Funny enough… I'm heading there too. My brother had a medical emergency."
Jacob's expression darkened.
"I hope he's okay."
He looked out the window.
"Our friend was in bad shape too."
Then quietly:
"But what scared us most was the man who took him."
He glanced back at her.
"He was huge. Searched him like a criminal, then dragged him away."
The car screeched to a violent halt.
Everyone jolted forward.
The girl turned sharply, her face pale.
"Did he…"
Her voice shook.
"Did he have a tattoo on his neck?"
Jacob hesitated.
"I'm not sure. I didn't get close enough."
Rania answered at once.
"Yes."
Her eyes narrowed.
"There was something on his neck."
She swallowed.
"A tattoo."
The girl slammed both hands against the steering wheel.
"Damn it!"
She threw open her door and shouted at the man beside her.
"Get out. Now."
He blinked in confusion.
"What? Why?"
"Just get out!"
Her voice cracked.
"I'll explain later. Please!"
Still confused, he stepped out.
She restarted the engine and sped away before the door had fully closed.
The man stood alone in the street, watching the car vanish into the distance.
Then, to himself, he smiled.
"I can't believe it…"
He chuckled.
"I've fallen in love with a gang girl."
The Hospital
The reception area was wrapped in silence.
Cold white lights reflected off polished gray ceramic floors. Behind the desk sat a receptionist in her forties, glasses low on her nose, hair tied back tightly as she flipped through patient files beside a glowing computer screen.
Soft classical music drifted from a small radio nearby.
To her left, an abandoned coffee machine released faint wisps of steam, untouched as though no one dared approach it.
At the far end of the corridor, a sign pointed toward the emergency ward.
Emergency Room
The lighting there was dimmer.
But the tension was sharper.
Stretchers lined the room behind half-drawn blue curtains. Doctors and nurses moved quickly but quietly, while the intermittent beeping of monitors sounded like warnings from another world.
In the rear corner, where movement had thinned, sat George.
He occupied a plastic chair like a throne seized by force.
A massive man with cold gray eyes and a snake tattoo curling around his neck before vanishing behind his ear.
His arms stretched wide, posture relaxed, yet everything about him claimed the room through menace alone.
Beside him stood three men who looked like shadows carved from the same stone.
Tyrone immense, dark-skinned, with a deep scar across his left cheek, wearing a sleeveless leather jacket.
Luis bald, blue-eyed, arms covered in tattoos, flipping a small knife through his fingers.
Dmitri blond, neatly bearded, calmest of the three, dressed in a white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.
Their eyes moved constantly, sweeping the room like invisible security cameras.
Across from them sat four women in their twenties, huddled close together, whispering anxiously.
Lisa twenty-three, long wavy blonde hair, black dress, red lips.
Nora twenty-four, brunette curls, jeans and gray shirt, checking her phone obsessively.
Anna twenty-two, sharp Asian features, tracksuit, biting at her nails.
Celine twenty-one, red hair, green eyes, silent, never taking her eyes off George and his men.
The air felt charged.
Everyone knew what happened to Houssam was no accident.
It was the beginning of something worse.
Tyrone's voice rumbled with anger.
"I don't understand."
He glared at George.
"How did you let him smoke when you knew his condition?"
His fists tightened.
"You were right there. We were supposed to protect him not watch him destroy himself."
Luis stood abruptly.
"You know he uses smoke to numb the pain."
His eyes burned.
"But you should've stopped him."
He jabbed a finger forward.
"You were his shield."
George remained seated, staring at the floor.
"I saw him pull out the cigarette."
His voice sounded empty.
"I was going to say something."
Then slowly:
"But his eyes were different."
A pause.
"I couldn't stop him."
He swallowed.
"It felt like he was saying goodbye."
Dmitri's calm voice cut sharper than rage.
"He has a heart condition."
His eyes never blinked.
"He knows it."
Then he leaned forward.
"And you were supposed to be the fail-safe."
His tone darkened.
"A guardian. Not a spectator."
He exhaled once.
"If something happens to him…"
He looked at all of them.
"That blood is on every one of us."
George lifted his head.
"I didn't let him."
His words came strangled.
"He was hurting… and he wouldn't speak."
He shut his eyes briefly.
"I thought he just needed time."
His voice nearly vanished.
"I didn't know it was the last time."
Tyrone turned toward the wall, wiping at his face.
"We're his brothers…"
Pain shook his voice.
"But no one knows."
He laughed bitterly.
"And he refused to admit it."
His eyes closed.
"He wanted to live far from us. Far from the family's shadow. Far from all this."
Luis stared at the ICU doors.
"Now he's between life and death…"
His jaw clenched.
"And we're out here hiding like strangers."
Dmitri's voice finally broke.
"I can't lose him."
He shook his head.
"Not after everything we did for him."
He stared at the doors.
"He has to wake up."
George whispered toward the floor.
"If he walks out of this…"
He swallowed.
"I'll tell him the truth."
A painful pause.
"That I caused this pain."
Then quietly:
"And I'll let him choose."
His eyes shut.
"Forgive me… or cut me out forever."
Tyrone snapped sharply:
"You'll say nothing."
He stepped forward.
"It's too soon."
Then lower:
"We survive this first."
His eyes narrowed.
"Then we settle scores."
The hospital intercom crackled.
"Dr. Stewart to ICU immediately. Dr. Stewart, code blue in ICU."
All four men rose at once.
Their eyes locked on the closed doors.
Time slowed.
Only the ticking of the wall clock moved.
Across from them, the four girls sat trembling, swollen-eyed from tears and exhaustion.
Lisa whispered:
"He tried so hard to look strong…"
Her lips quivered.
"But we all saw the pain in his eyes."
Nora stared at the floor.
"And where were we?"
She wiped tears angrily.
"Why didn't he come back to us?"
Her voice cracked.
"Why didn't he ask for help?"
Anna whispered:
"He chose to walk away…"
She hugged herself.
"But that doesn't mean he didn't need us."
Celine spoke last.
"I blame myself."
She stared at the ICU doors.
"The last time we spoke, I was cruel."
A tear slid down her cheek.
"I thought I was pushing him forward."
She lowered her head.
"Maybe I only broke him more."
Then suddenly The main doors burst open.
A woman rushed inside, steps frantic and uneven, clutching a transparent bag filled with men's clothes:
A gray shirt.
Dark trousers.
A carefully folded gray scarf.
She was forty-eight.
Her face was weary but unbroken.
Deep brown eyes beneath hastily tied hair streaked with white.
An olive coat hung heavily from her shoulders, as though burdened by decades of grief.
The moment she entered, everyone stood.
The men.
The women.
Even the receptionist.
All staring in silence.
Her voice came sharp and broken.
"Where is he?"
She clutched the clothes tighter.
"Where is Houssam?"
Her eyes searched desperately.
"They told me he was here. In emergency."
Tears gathered.
"Please."
No one answered.
Heads lowered.
Words died in their throats.
Only silence remained heavy as stone.
She looked at them one by one.
"Speak!"
Her voice cracked open.
"I'm his mother."
She held the clothes to her chest.
"I washed him with my own hands when he was a child…"
Her lips trembled.
"Will I have to wash him again?"
Before anyone could answer
The ICU doors opened.
A doctor stepped out.
Balding, in his fifties, glasses low on his nose, exhaustion carved deep into his face.
He looked at the gathered crowd.
Then spoke in a voice low and sharp as a blade.
"I'm sorry."
A pause.
"I have bad news."