I was pacing.
Not dramatically.
Not suspiciously.
Just… casually.
Like a perfectly normal, recently-shot person who is absolutely supposed to be walking in circles around her hospital room like she's planning a prison break.
Which—
I am.
But that's not the point.
The point is, I've had enough.
Three weeks.
Three long, painfully slow, mentally exhausting weeks in this white, lifeless, too-clean room.
If I see one more nurse smile at me like I'm a fragile little doll, I might actually lose it.
I stop mid-step, staring at the wall.
White.
Of course it's white.
Everything is white.
The bed.
The sheets.
The curtains.
Even the stupid flowers Zane's mother brought look like they're trying too hard to bring color into a place that refuses to have any personality.
"I'm going insane," I whisper.
Kiara, sitting on the chair with her legs crossed and a snack in her hand—my snack, by the way—doesn't even look up.
"You've been insane," she says casually.
I glare at her.
"You're supposed to support me."
"I am supporting you," she replies, popping something into her mouth. "Emotionally. From a safe distance."
Rude.
Very rude.
I resume pacing.
Slow steps.
Measured.
Not because I want to—
but because my body still reminds me that I'm not at full strength yet.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
But manageable.
Which means—
I can leave.
I just need permission.
And there is only one person standing between me and my freedom.
Adrian.
My dear, overprotective, emotionally constipated brother.
I stop again, placing my hands on my hips.
"Okay," I say, more to myself than anyone else. "We need a plan."
Kiara finally looks up, narrowing her eyes. "We?"
"Yes, we. You're part of this."
"I don't remember signing up for a criminal activity."
"It's not criminal," I argue. "It's… emotional strategy."
She stares at me.
"That sounds worse."
I ignore her.
My mind is already working.
Fast.
Sharp.
Focused on one thing only—
escape.
"I can't argue with him," I mutter. "That won't work. He'll just say no and then stare at me like I've personally offended his entire existence."
"Accurate," Kiara nods.
"So I need something else."
I start pacing again, faster this time.
"Something emotional. Something dramatic. Something that makes him feel guilty."
Kiara slowly lowers her snack.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes," I grin.
"This is a terrible idea."
"This is a brilliant idea."
"This is manipulation."
"This is survival."
She sighs deeply. "I'm going to regret being here, aren't I?"
"Absolutely."
I stop in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.
I look… better.
Not perfect.
Not fully healed.
But alive.
Strong enough.
My eyes narrow slightly as I study myself.
"Okay," I murmur. "We need tears."
Kiara chokes. "Excuse me?"
"Tears," I repeat. "Not real ones. Strategic ones."
"You're insane."
"I've accepted that."
I try to force a sad expression.
It comes out… questionable.
Kiara stares at me.
"That looks like you're constipated."
I glare at her. "I am injured. Respect me."
"Your face is not cooperating."
I huff, trying again.
Softer this time.
More vulnerable.
A little tilt of the head.
A slight frown.
"Adrian…" I practice quietly, my voice dropping into something softer, almost fragile. "I just… want to go home."
Kiara blinks.
"…Okay wait."
I pause. "What?"
"That was actually good."
I smirk slightly. "I know."
"That's concerning."
"Focus."
I turn back to the mirror, adjusting my expression again.
"We go for emotional damage," I explain. "Soft voice, slightly watery eyes, maybe a little guilt trip."
"You're terrifying."
"I'm effective."
She shakes her head, muttering something about needing better friends.
I ignore her.
Because I hear it.
Footsteps.
Outside.
Heavy.
Familiar.
Adrian.
I freeze for a second.
Then immediately straighten.
"Positions," I whisper.
"Positions?" Kiara echoes.
"Just—look supportive," I hiss.
She throws her hands up. "I am supportive!"
"Not like that—you look like you're watching a drama."
"I am watching a drama."
Before I can respond—
the door opens.
Adrian walks in.
Calm.
Collected.
Dangerously observant.
His eyes immediately land on me.
Standing.
Out of bed.
Pacing.
His expression doesn't change.
But I see it.
That tiny shift.
That silent calculation.
"You're walking," he says.
Not a question.
Of course not.
I immediately soften.
Phase one.
"Adrian…" I start gently.
His eyes narrow slightly.
He already knows.
Damn it.
I move toward him slowly.
Carefully.
Just enough to look like I'm trying.
Like I'm fragile—but determined.
"I feel better," I say quietly.
No response.
I take another step.
"I've been here for three weeks."
Still nothing.
This man is impossible.
I push harder.
"I just… want to go home."
There.
The line.
Delivered perfectly.
Soft.
Vulnerable.
Just the right amount of emotion.
Kiara, behind me, is absolutely useless—just watching like she paid for front-row seats.
Adrian exhales slowly, crossing his arms.
"No."
Immediate.
Cold.
Unmoved.
I blink.
What?
That was supposed to work.
I try again.
Phase two.
Slightly shakier voice.
"Please?"
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
I feel personally attacked.
"I'm fine," I insist, gesturing to myself. "Look—I can walk, I can move, I'm not dying—"
"You were," he cuts in.
I pause.
Okay.
That one hit.
But I recover quickly.
"I'm not anymore," I argue. "And I can't stay here. I'm losing my mind."
"You'll survive."
"I won't."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I'll become unbearable."
"You already are."
Kiara snorts loudly behind me.
Traitor.
I glare at her.
She covers her mouth, pretending to cough.
I turn back to Adrian, narrowing my eyes.
"Okay, fine," I say, dropping the soft act completely. "New strategy."
He sighs. "Luna—"
"No, listen," I cut him off. "If you don't let me go home, I will make your life so difficult you'll regret it."
He stares at me.
Unimpressed.
"I will call you every hour," I continue. "I will complain non-stop. I will refuse every nurse. I will—"
"You already do that."
I freeze.
"…That's not the point."
Kiara is laughing now.
Actually laughing.
I point at her. "You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I am—this is just entertaining."
I groan, running a hand through my hair.
"This is not how this was supposed to go."
Adrian shakes his head slightly, but there's something there now.
A small crack.
Amusement.
Finally.
Progress.
I straighten again, crossing my arms.
"I'm going home," I declare.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Luna—"
"Adrian."
Silence.
We stare at each other.
A standoff.
Classic.
Then—
he exhales.
Long.
Tired.
"…We'll talk to the doctor," he says finally.
I freeze.
Wait.
What?
"Really?" I blink.
"Talk," he repeats. "Not decide."
I grin instantly.
Victory.
Small.
But still a victory.
I turn to Kiara, whispering loudly, "See? Emotional manipulation works."
Adrian pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I heard that."
I shrug innocently.
"Worth it."
And for the first time in three weeks—
I feel it.
Not just hope.
Not just frustration.
Something better.
Movement.
Change.
Freedom—almost within reach.
And honestly?
If I have to emotionally manipulate my way out of this place—
I'll do it again.