The Quiet Between Words

Elias caught sight of Lucas and Hazel exiting the hospital room just as he turned the corner. Their expressions were composed, even pleasant, but he noted the tight line of Hazel's mouth, the measured precision of Lucas's nod—too practiced to be casual.

He didn't greet them.

He waited until they disappeared down the hall.

Silence reclaimed the corridor, broken only by the low hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant rhythm of footsteps. When he finally pushed open the door, the room felt colder than it had just hours before.

Adeline didn't look up. Her gaze was fixed out the window, where the sunlight had dulled behind thickening clouds. The lilies on the sill glowed pale and spectral in the dimming light.

"Visitors?" Elias asked, his voice low, even.

Adeline turned slightly. Her expression was composed, but he recognized the tension—subtle, beneath the surface.

"Brief ones," she said. "They brought flowers."

His eyes flicked to the vase. White lilies. Of course.

"I would've warned you," he said. "If I'd known they were coming."

"You don't have to," she replied, her gaze returning to the window. "I know exactly what they're thinking."

He didn't approach right away. He lingered near the door, hands tucked in his coat pockets, jaw tight.

"You shouldn't have had to deal with them right now."

Adeline gave a faint, bitter smile. "When have I ever had a choice?"

He had no answer.

For a moment, he looked at the lilies. They were too white, too pristine. They felt staged—something left behind in the aftermath of a performance.

Eventually, he moved into the room, each step slow, deliberate. The chair by her bedside sat empty, its quiet presence both welcoming and unnerving.

This time, he sat. Carefully. Like the chair might break beneath the weight of what neither of them said.

Adeline glanced at him. "You're getting better at pretending."

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "It's a survival skill."

She didn't press him. She never did. And maybe that was what made it harder.

"Hazel said you always protect what you care about," she murmured.

He turned to her at that.

"And do you think that's not true?"

Her gaze held steady. "I think it's inconvenient for people like them."

Silence fell again, but it wasn't hollow. It pulsed—quiet, heavy, like the air before a storm.

Elias rose, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves—a restless habit he hadn't indulged in for years.

"I'll have Nathan take care of the flowers," he said. "They don't belong here."

Adeline's voice stopped him as he reached the door.

"Then what does?"

He paused, glancing back. Their eyes met.

"I'm still figuring that out."

He left then, the lilies untouched.