The morning sun filtered through the blinds in soft golden streaks, but Penelope barely noticed. She slipped back into her apartment, heels in one hand, hair tousled from a night she didn't entirely regret.
Andrew was still asleep.
Of course he was, she had left him at his apartment wanting to be along for a while. She had been there for days.
She tossed her heels near the couch, already halfway to the kitchen when her phone buzzed. She rolled her eyes, expecting another client or maybe her mother. But the number wasn't saved.
Curious, she picked up. "Hello?"
A man's voice, unsure and slightly winded, answered.
"Penelope? I—uh—I think I saw your friend, Elizabeth. She's at St. Grace Hospital. I work in the emergency wing… she was admitted a few nights ago. Car accident or something."
Penelope froze, her fingers tightening around the phone.
"She's in the West wing, Third floor, Room 308. I just thought you should know."
Then — click. The line went dead.
Silence stretched through the room like a blade. Her breath caught.
Elizabeth. Alive?
She hadn't heard a word from her since the blowout. Since the betrayal. Since Andrew.
"Damn it," she hissed.
In one motion, she raised the phone, her fingers itching to throw it against the wall. But she stopped short. Her pulse quickened but her mind raced with an idea.
She tapped her screen, found a number, and pressed call.
"Hello?" a male voice answered groggily on the second ring.
"It's me," Penelope said coolly. "I need a favor. A big one."
"Name it."
"There's a girl in Room 308, third floor at St. Grace. Elizabeth." She paused, letting the name simmer. "I need her gone. Quietly. No mess."
A long pause.
"You sure about this?" he asked, voice low now. Serious.
Penelope stared out the window, her reflection hollow against the glass. Her voice turned icy.
"I don't care how you do it. Just make sure she doesn't wake up."
******
Later that evening…
Gregory stood across the street from St. Grace Hospital, a black hoodie pulled low over his eyes. The soft hum of traffic buzzed around him, but his focus was fixed on the third floor windows.
Room 308.
He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers — more out of habit than need — and exhaled slowly. This wasn't the first time Penelope had asked him for something dirty, but it was the first time she'd asked for something this… final.
He pulled out his phone, the screen glowing in the dim light. One new message.
> Don't chicken out, Greg.
You owe me.
One job and you're free.
His jaw tightened.
He did owe her. For covering up that night in San Francisco. For cleaning up the mess he hadn't meant to make.
Still…
Elizabeth.
She didn't seem like someone who deserved this.
He glanced up again.
Room 308.
"Just in and out," he muttered to himself. "Quiet. No mess."
But something in his gut twisted. This wasn't his usual jobs, he had no choice.
Inside St. Grace Hospital
At Night....
The fluorescent lights flickered faintly as Gregory stepped into the quiet hallway of the third floor, a white lab coat draped over his shoulders and a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face.
He moved like he belonged there.
Clipboard in hand. Confident. Silent.
Room 308 was halfway down the hall. He paused just outside the door, heart pounding in his ears. No nurses in sight. No cameras pointing directly at the room.
Just one more job.
He pushed the door open quietly.
The room was dim, lit only by a sliver of light spilling in from the hallway. Machines beeped softly, their lights blinking in a steady rhythm. The figure in the bed was still. Swaddled in blankets. Face mostly wrapped in gauze and bandages.
He didn't bother confirming.
He didn't want to.
With practiced fingers, he moved to the side of the bed and gently unclipped the oxygen mask. The soft hiss of air stopped instantly. The beeping slowed.
He stood there for a second — watching.
Waiting.
Then… nothing.
He turned, forced his breath steady, and slipped out the door, taking the emergency stairs.
---
Outside, the night air slapped him like cold water. He yanked off the mask and lab coat in one motion, stuffing them into a trash bin in the alley.
His hands shook as he pulled out his phone.
One ring. Two.
She picked up.
"Well?" Penelope's voice was low and clipped.
"It's done," he said, glancing back toward the hospital. "Room 308. Just like you said."
A pause. Then:
"Good."
She hung up without another word.
Gregory stared at the phone for a second before sliding it into his pocket. His stomach twisted, but it was too late now.
He told himself it was just a job.
Only… something about it didn't feel finished
******
A few minutes later
A man in a leather jacket entered the hospital lobby, striding toward the front desk. His voice was brisk.
"I'm here to see Elizabeth Stone. Where is she?"
The receptionist, a young nurse flipping through charts, barely looked up.
"Third floor, room 308," she said, offering a tired smile.
The man nodded, already moving toward the elevators.
As the elevator doors closed, a frown tugged at the nurse's lips.
Wait a second…
She snapped her fingers. Elizabeth Stone.
She had been discharged earlier that afternoon — signed out by her brother.
Her blood ran cold.
She grabbed her chart, heart hammering, and dashed toward the stairwell.
But it was too late.
The fire alarm shrieked through the building, echoing down the halls.
A heartbeat later, an explosion ripped through the third floor — a deafening roar that shattered windows and sent fire curling up the night sky.
Screams. Sirens. Chaos.
The oxygen tanks had ignited — turning Room 308 into a roaring inferno.
Flames devoured the walls. Smoke swallowed the ceilings.
And somewhere in the wreckage, a secret was buried.
For now.
Because smoke never stays hidden forever.