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Agent Fiona Red of the FBI paced the sterile confines of the doctor's office, her fingers entwined tightly. The room was suffused with the quiet hum of medical machinery from the adjacent corridors. She halted before the doctor, her eyes pleading.

"Doctor, I heard her," Fiona insisted, her voice a hushed urgency that betrayed her usual resolve. "Joslyn said my name."

Dr. Keller peered at her over the rim of his spectacles, his expression unmoved. His hands clasped together on the desk, an island of calm in the sea of Fiona's desperation.

"Ms. Red," he began, his tone even, "there's been no report of Joslyn speaking. If she did..." He trailed off, skeptical.

"Please, you have to believe me." Fiona's plea hung in the air, a thread of hope she refused to let break. She leaned forward, searching for any sign of credence in his eyes.

Dr. Keller sighed and leaned back in his chair, a gesture that seemed to take up more space than it should in the small office. It had been months now since Fiona had tracked down her older sister, Joslyn, who had been missing for ten years—kidnapped by the monster Daniel Grove, who had murdered many others, and kept in an abandoned house. When Fiona, with the help of the FBI and her partner, Jake, had finally found Joslyn, she’d been a shell of her former self. Ten years in captivity had left Joslyn without speech, without much of anything.

But she was still Joslyn. And just a few nights ago, Fiona had heard Joslyn’s voice. She’d said her name. But she hadn’t spoken since, and Fiona was still having a hard time convincing people that it had even happened. This wasn’t the first time Fiona had talked to this very doctor about this, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

"Joslyn's condition is precarious," the doctor explained, his voice maintaining its clinical detachment. "Her mental state has suffered significant trauma. It's not unheard of for patients in her situation to find their voice momentarily."

Relief flickered across Fiona’s features. The possibility that she wasn't imagining things—that her sister had indeed broken her silence—was a lifeline.

"However," Dr. Keller continued, tempering the moment, "this doesn't mean she'll return to her former self right away, or even at all. These moments can be transient, isolated incidents."

The words settled heavily on Fiona, each syllable a weight she hadn't anticipated. She nodded slowly, absorbing the import of his caution. Her sister was still locked in a battle that had no clear end in sight.

Fiona sighed and sat down in the chair. She gripped the armrests, the leather cool under her fingers. "I know you're being cautious," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't shake this feeling... that I should be here more. If me talking to her, being with her, could help Joslyn find her words again, then I should be at her side. Always."

Dr. Keller regarded Fiona with a softening gaze, his professional demeanor giving way to empathy. He understood the unyielding bond of sisterhood, the silent pleas for recovery that echoed in the sterile walls of the hospital room. "Fiona," he began, folding his hands on the desk, "you're welcome to spend as much time here as visiting hours allow. We've seen how your presence seems to have a calming effect on Joslyn."

Fiona's eyes lit up for a moment, a spark of hope amidst the uncertainty. She edged forward, ready to take any permission as a sign to cling to Joslyn's bedside.

"However," Dr. Keller continued, his tone steady and firm, "it's important not to put your life on hold. You've got responsibilities, and while your dedication is admirable, you need to consider your own well-being." He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. "Joslyn wouldn't want you to stop living because of her. It could take years for her to recover."

His words were a gentle nudge, reminding Fiona of the world outside the hospital – a world where she was more than just Joslyn's sister, a world that demanded her attention, too. Fiona's resolve wavered, and she nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his advice. It was a balancing act, one she was still learning to navigate: the pull of her sister's needs against the demands of her own life. Her life as an agent, her life with Jake. She stood up, feeling the weight of the doctor's counsel settling over her like a mantle she would learn to wear.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said.

With a heavy heart, Fiona pushed the door open and stepped out of Dr. Keller's office. The sterile scent of antiseptic that always lingered in the hospital halls seemed to sharpen her senses. She knew her duty as an FBI agent awaited her. Yet, the thought of leaving Joslyn's side gnawed at her with the persistence of a moth to flame.

She navigated through the maze of corridors, the click of her heels muffled by the linoleum flooring. Each step took her away from the doctor's words and closer to Joslyn. Work would pile up on her desk—profiles to create, evidence to analyze. But all that paled in comparison to the fragments of hope she clung to since hearing Joslyn speak.

Fiona paused outside Joslyn's room, bracing herself. As she peered through the glass pane in the door, she saw Joslyn, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. She slipped inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

The room was dimly lit, the only light cast by the glow of monitors that kept vigilant watch over Joslyn's vital signs. Fiona approached the bed, her gaze fixed on Joslyn's face, searching for any sign of the sister she once knew.

She recalled the moment vividly—the way Joslyn's lips had moved, forming Fiona's name like a whisper carried on the wind. It had been a fleeting connection, a brief surfacing from the depths of Joslyn's trauma. And yet, since then, silence had reclaimed its dominion.

"Joslyn," Fiona murmured, though she knew there would be no answer. She studied her sister's serene expression, the dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. The contrast between Joslyn's tranquility and the turmoil of Fiona's own emotions was jarring.

It was that very dichotomy which held Fiona captive—a relentless tug-of-war between her professional obligations and the personal vow she'd made to never abandon Joslyn again. If her presence could coax Joslyn back to them, even momentarily, how could she justify stepping away?

Yet the realist within her, the part honed by years of scientific training and recent FBI discipline, understood the precarious balance she must maintain. Life couldn't be placed on indefinite hold, not even for this.

Fiona settled into the chair beside Joslyn’s bed, her posture weary but resolute. The hum of the hospital faded into a distant chorus as she leaned in close to her sister's still form. "I'll be back soon," she whispered, her voice steady despite the weight of her promise. She squeezed Joslyn's hand gently, searching for any sign of response, yearning for another miracle like the one that had given her hope.

A single tear betrayed her composed facade, trailing down her cheek and dropping onto the white linen. It was a silent testament to the years of fear and uncertainty that had culminated in this fragile reunion. Fiona brushed away the moisture with the back of her free hand, steeling herself against the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her resolve.

"Joslyn, I won't be far," she continued, her lips barely moving. She imagined her words were a lifeline, a beacon to guide her sister back from wherever her mind had retreated. Even in the quiet of the room, there was a palpable sense of connection—a tether forged from shared memories and the unspoken language of siblings.

Her phone's vibration jolted her from the moment, its insistent buzz a reminder of the world beyond these walls. Reluctantly, Fiona released Joslyn's hand and stood up, her movements slow, as if resisting the pull of reality. She bent forward and placed a kiss on Joslyn’s forehead, a silent promise etched in the gesture.

With a final glance at her sister, Fiona stepped out into the hallway, where the light seemed too bright, the sounds too loud. She drew a deep breath, steadying herself before retrieving the vibrating phone from her pocket. Jake's name flashed on the screen.

"Jake?" Her voice sounded foreign in the sterile corridor, echoing off the linoleum floors and painted cinder block walls. She listened, her mind already shifting gears, the mask of Agent Red sliding into place over the concerned sister. But even as she prepared to step back into her role, her heart remained anchored to the bedside, tethered tightly to the hope that Joslyn would find her way back to them.

Fiona’s hand still warm from Joslyn's. The phone felt cold and alien against her ear. She blinked, adjusting to the brightness of the fluorescent lights.

"Red, the chief needs us," Jake's voice cut through the clinical silence, a wave of urgency in his tone. "We've got a new case."

She leaned against the wall, the painted surface cool through her blouse. "What’s the situation?"

"Details are sparse, but Chief Whittaker mentioned your expertise with bugs might come in handy." There was a shuffle on the other end, papers or maybe Jake running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit she’d come to recognize.

"Okay," Fiona replied curtly, pushing off the wall. "I’ll be right there."

"Hey, Fiona," Jake hesitated, and she could almost see him squinting through the phone, trying to read her like he did crime scenes—meticulously, searching for what's hidden. "You okay?"

She paused, hand gripping the phone tighter. "I'm at the hospital. The doctors... they think Joslyn’s condition is too precarious to predict. She hasn’t spoken again. They don’t seem to think she’ll get better for a long time, if at all.”

"Shit, Red," Jake responded after a pause. "I'm sorry." The concern in his voice was palpable, even over the phone. "Stay strong, Red. I'll see you soon." His words carried the weight of a promise, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this.

"Thanks, Jake," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. She pressed the 'end call' button and slipped the phone into her pocket. Her hand lingered there, clutching the fabric as if it could somehow anchor her to the moment of support he had given her.

She stood still in the hospital hallway, the bustling sounds around her fading into a low hum. Fiona closed her eyes for a brief second, allowing herself the luxury of feeling grateful for Jake. He had seen her at her worst, her moments of doubt and fear, yet he was always there, steadfast.

When she opened her eyes, she took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs. The gratitude she felt towards Jake mingled with her resolve. Fiona knew she had to pull herself together; there was work to be done, and Joslyn would have wanted her to carry on.

With a final glance back at the door leading to Joslyn's room, Fiona made her way to the exit. Her gait was purposeful, each step taking her further from the place of uncertainty and closer to the familiar realm of her investigative work. As an FBI agent, clarity and order were her allies, and she clung to them now as she navigated through the throngs of people in the hospital.

The sliding doors parted, and she stepped out into the world again, the morning sun bright. Fiona didn't look back. Instead, she focused on the path ahead. With Jake by her side and the memory of Joslyn's voice fueling her determination, she knew what she had to do.

As she walked toward her car, the crisp winter air felt like a balm, clearing her mind. Fiona slid behind the wheel, her hands steady on the steering wheel. The engine came to life with a purr, a sound that spoke of movement and progress. She pulled out of the parking lot, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Dr. Keller had been right—Joslyn wouldn’t want Fiona to wait around. If there was another case, then someone else was in danger, and Fiona had a job to do.