"Oh, Steven," Felix moaned just as Chris stepped into the ward.
Chris froze at the door, his eyes travelled slowly over the frail old man lying on the hospital bed. His lips thinned, jaw clenched. He swallowed, but the tightness in his throat didn't ease.
His uncle had lost so much weight. His sunken skin looked tanned and worn, like leather left too long in the sun.
"It's been a long time, dear," Felix said softly.
Chris met his uncle's eyes. His uncle's gaze faltered, lashes dampening as he blinked away the moisture, but something about them made Chris frown. It was as if the tears weren't for himself—but for Chris.
Do I look that bad? Chris turned away, raking his fingers through his hair. His jaw clenched. His throat burned again. Of course, I'm not fine.
He flexed his hands open and shut as he slowly approached his uncle.
Enough pretending. I need to find that prophetess. I need to know why my life is like this—why I can never seem to hold on to the things I want.
Ever since he'd found that white invitation card on Isa's desk, since he discovered Alex had known Isa for years, sleep had become impossible. His heart pounded without warning, even when everything around him was still. But he knew—it wasn't the world around him that was dangerous. It was Alex. It was his own heart. He had denied his feelings for Isa—but not any more. Even if he wanted her, he couldn't keep her. He couldn't have her.
The image haunted him every night—those tear-filled eyes, those outstretched hands disappearing into smoke.
This has to stop. If he had only a few days left to live, he wanted someone by his side. Someone who would cry for him. Someone who would stay. He needed to break whatever curse was tightening around him like a noose. But first, he needed answers.
"You look exhausted," Felix said, his voice weak but steady, eyes fixed on Chris. "You've lost weight too."
Chris didn't look at him. He simply nodded, humming in reply, then rubbed his aching temples.
"You're probably right," His voice broke on the last word, rasping like a whisper caught in a storm. He looked up at his uncle, eyes dark. He sucked in a ragged breath, chest rising and falling unevenly.
Chris smirked bitterly as he watched Felix's lips tremble, his shaking hands gripping the edge of the blanket.
"You watched everything fall apart—like it didn't matter," Chris muttered. "When your wife threw me out... when Stacy died…"
He let out a dry, broken laugh, wiping a hand over his face and looking away. His hands trembled, fingers twitching as if fighting a tremor.
"All you did was watch," his voice trembled. "You—did nothing."
He inhaled sharply, rubbing away the tear that escaped. He sniffled, nodded slowly, and dropped his gaze to his shoes.
For a moment, silence wrapped the room. The only sounds were the steady beep of machines and Felix's muffled sobs.
Chris noticed his uncle parting his lips, then closing them again, like he was struggling to speak. Chris's chest tightened, but he shook the feeling away.
He could've done something. If he had... maybe my life wouldn't have ended up like this.
Chris gathered himself, steeling his voice. "Tell me—who is she?"
Felix looked at him, eyes filled with hesitation and dread.
"The prophetess," Chris clarified.
Felix looked away quickly. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"I…" Felix swallowed, his body trembling. "I tried to find her... after my daughter died." His voice cracked. A tear slid down his chin. "I tried—but it was too late. She was already dead when I reached her."
His shoulders shook with silent sobs, lips pressed tightly together.
"What... what did you just say?" Chris staggered, grabbing a plastic chair as the room spun around him. His breath turned hot, sweat dampened his back. "That can't be true," he whispered through clenched teeth, eyes shut tight.
"I went everywhere, tried to understand what was happening to you... but most times I got scammed," Fliex confessed. "I'm sorry. I really sorry."
"Please…" Chris let go of the chair and stumbled slightly. He held his head, his knees weak. "What's happening to me," he choked. He swayed unsteadily, every muscle aching as if weighted down.
"Why me?" His voice faltered, catching in his throat as tears spilled down his cheeks. His bottom lip quivered, barely held in check.
"I'm so sorry," Felix whispered, head bowed, fists clenched in the bedsheet.
Chris's arm fell limp to his side. His gaze swept the room, everything shrinking around him.
Without another word, he turned and dragged himself toward the door.
Chris slammed his fist against the steering wheel, a cry tearing out of his throat.
"But it was too late. She was already dead when I reached her."
His uncle's words echoed in his mind.
Chris shook his head, as if trying to erase the memory. His thoughts swirled back to Isa and Alex—the way they held hands in the hospital, how they laughed together. The way Isa's shoulders relaxed around him. The way she had scrambled her schedule just to attend the party.
That scent Alex wore—almond and warmth. Isa once said she liked it.
Chris pounded the steering wheel again. A car horn blared.
I was wrong. He laughed bitterly. That perfume means something to him. Something real.
The image of Alex getting everything he wanted while Chris stood alone in the shadows—pretending it didn't matter—ripped through Chris like glass.
He had his first chance... and it slipped away.
"No!" he screamed, slamming the steering wheel again and again. "This can't go on! This can't continue!"
The image returned—haunting and relentless—his woman trapped in the fire, arms outstretched toward him, tears streaming down her ash-streaked face.
A piercing horn screamed through the air. Chris had swerved—straight into the path of an oncoming car.
Another horn blared, long and desperate.
But Chris didn't hear it. All he could hear was the shriek of sirens, the wailing of the crowd, and Stacy's imagined cries echoing in the fire.
PEEEEEEEEEEEEE—
The sound died the moment his car collided.
Chris's body crashed against the wheel. Smoke swirled. Everything faded—except one voice, rising like a ghost through the roar of the crash:
"You killed Stacy."