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W atch how you talk of the dead. They have a way of coming back to haunt you.

Luke’s words had struck true.

Because even as he tugged his torn suit over his shoulders and winced at the movement, Ray’s face flashed back in his mind. She never did disappear these hours. These minutes.

It was terrible.

And haunting in its own way.

She wasn’t dead, he reminded himself time and time again. Even now, as Angel De Santos stared at his reflection in the mirror of his hospital bathroom, he had to repeat the same thought to himself.

She’s. Alive.

He tugged the suit on with a soft sigh. The bullet in his hand was removed, leaving behind an ugly scar that was carefully wrapped with a clean cloth. It came with a fair warning from the nurse to not move around much. An advice he was probably going to forget very soon. He saw his tired brown eyes, the mess of his hair, and ran an unhelpful hand through those strands. The suit had become dusty and torn from the edges but it was all he had.

It was all he needed.

Maya and Alessandro Larsen had left the night before, leaving behind their child and Verana Smith. A terrible decision, considering the new, angry bruise on Kyle Larsen’s cheek and Vera’s triumphant look.

He sighed and looked down at his hands, blinking at the way his vision blurre d

at the edges at their sight.

He’d had barely three hours of sleep last night, each hour lost to thoughts of how they would go ahead from this.

How he would convince the world without Noah Hassan.

How he would proceed without Raylene Walker.

Angel shook his head now, and took a step away from the mirror, turning on his heels to stride out the bathroom doors.

Mia Andrews, his step-sister, was still working on searching for Akash Smith – the man he was going to tear apart. And the others were just as busy getting things ready to leave and getting some damage control done. And he should’ve probably gone to Kyle. Probably should’ve spoken to him about where to go and how to proceed.

But Angel only veered in the opposite direction and landed on the reception desk with a charming smile on his face. The man sitting on the other end barely looked up when he spoke,

“Hi. I’m looking for someone–”

“We’re not allowed to share information about anyone in this hospital.” The man responded robotically, “Please let me know if I can help you with anything–”

“I would look up if I were you.”

The man’s head snapped up at the dangerous undertone hidden within Angel De Santos’s smile. His eyes only widened as he recognized who he was and he stumbled off his seat, sudden beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as he took a step back.

“I’m looking for Raylene Walker.” Angel said smoothly. The man nodded briskly and shot forward to the computer .

“Room number 5, she’s in intensive care. She’s in dire condition, please be…”

Angel had already walked away after hearing the room number. The smile dropped from his face as he walked past people in white coats hurriedly, unable to keep his heart from beating wildly in his chest. His eyes darted around in search of the room, almost losing hope because it wasn’t anywhere–

Room 5.

Angel breathed out, saw the tinted windows of the room, and forced himself to still.

To calm.

He tipped his chin, his hands flexing at his sides as he looked at the room number one more time. Saw that it was still the same and placed an unshaking hand on the cold, metal handle.

He’d seen people around her door, but none of them dared interrupt when he pushed the handle down and pulled the door open.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting walking into her room. Maybe it was her up in her bed with a small smile on her face as she explained that it was all a joke.

But it wasn’t the smell of the fruity candles and the sounds of an IV drip.

Wasn’t the pale, asleep face surrounded by waves of her blue-black hair.

Angel’s breath caught as he stepped into the room and the door shut automatically behind him. The sound of the heartbeat monitor was forgotten as he walked ahead silently and stared down at her.

He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Could barely breathe .

There were a few small red scratches on the side of her face and her head was wrapped in a clean white bandaged. Her hands were laid beside her, all pale and too small. Angel’s mind seemed to freeze when he saw her chest move up and down.

Silent.

The ball of dread, the lump in his throat only grew at the sight of a heartbeat monitor beeping rhythmically on the other side of her bed.

When had it all gone wrong?

Angel shut his eyes, the pain washing over him like a wave. He took a second, just a moment of heart the beep of the monitors and then…

Then he opened his eyes and looked down at Raylene Walker.

“I can do this the corny way, or the torturous way.” He said and stared at her shut eyelids. Saw the wind hustle in softly and brush the strands of her hair. Angel let loose a breath and took a step closer,

“But since you’re not awake, let’s do it the obvious way.”

He didn’t know why, but he waited. It was foolish. Hoping.

But he did it anyway.

His hands shook terribly at his side, a sudden sense of nausea filling his chest as he turned in search of a chair. Found one right behind him, and pulled it ahead without making a single sound. Angel unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and pushed the cloth apart as he sat close to her bed. Stopped his urge to take her hand in his and instead focused on her pale face. On the necklace that hung forward from his neck.

“The first day I met you, Raylene Walker, oh I can just see you squirming in your sleep…” a small dry chuckle. “You wouldn’t believe what I was thinking. ”

He blinked at her, watching her unmoving, pale face. Unable to recognize her without her smile, without her words, “I’d come to kill you, but I hadn’t been expecting…well you. And don’t get me wrong here,” he blinked, “I really did hate your guts.”

The sounds of birds chirping echoed through the room as he continued softly, “And if you’d asked me that day if I gave a shit about Raylene Walker in a coma, I would’ve said–” his eyes crinkled, “You know what I would’ve said.”

So, what changed? He imagined her asking. Angel leaned forward and extended his hand in her direction. He grit his teeth once before continuing,

“I’m going to hold your hand now,” he whispered and laced her cold fingers with his. Shook violently at the lifelessness of her palm, “If you have a problem, wake up and fight me on it.”

His head turned to look at her, his elbows digging in the side of her bed as he leaned closer. He didn’t really mean to, but his head slumped forward of its own accord and rested carefully on the very edge of her pillow. He was all but a breath away from her, but this proximity. This nearness. It brought back the memories of that night back into his mind.

And a terrible part of him cursed himself for not closing that distance that night.

Maybe if he had, they wouldn’t be here now.

“Your heart’s beating.” Angel rasped and heard the beep, beep, beep, in response. Fought a deadly sound that dared to tear from his throat as he continued with his eyes shut, “What else do you need to be awake Ray?”

He could hear her breathing, could feel the bed shift with the way her chest moved up and down with the action .

Angel’s finger tightened on hers, forcing and failing to get her to do something.

And suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore.

Maybe it was because she couldn’t hear him. Or because he’d been holding this in for the past five days. But his facade, his agony just shattered.

“I hate you, Raylene Walker,” he finally rasped, past that black flame in his chest and the lump in his throat, “I despise your smiles, I detest your glares. I hate the way you make me want to tear down the entire world for you.” A breath, “I hate that you were there that night and I couldn’t protect you from this. I hate, I hate–”

I hate you.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. And a part of Angel wondered how one person could leave such a bruising imprint on his heart within the span of one fucking week.

You have me in the palm of your hand, Raylene Walker.

How can you not be awake for it?

“I’m going after Akash tomorrow.” He said roughly and after a moment’s thought, ran a gentle hand over the top of her head. Her hair was soft under his touch and ruffled with his actions while his other hand loosened its hold on her fingers, “I’m giving you until tonight to wake and come with me.”

No response.

He grit his teeth and brushed her forehead softly again, his hands shaking now, “A few hours, that’s all you get alright, Storm?” he murmured. Her heartbeat monitor responded with another beep and Angel removed his hand from her forehead, his eyes hardening as he balled them into tight fists, and moved to get up from his seat .

“And after I bury Akash and his allies,” he continued softly, “I’ll come back for you.” He took a breath, “That is if, Kyle doesn’t replace you already.”

His eyes strayed to her, not a hair out of place, not a flicker of movement and despite his mind begging to shut down at the thoughts, he clawed his way through,

“That fucking asshole.” He breathed, “He doesn’t know our introduction was unique.”

She didn’t say a thing.

“Don’t make me deal with another mediator Storm, it’s going to be such a hassle.”

Wake up already.

Angel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting up to the clock in her room. The clock struck noon and he let out a soft breath, the thought of Ray waking the hell up giving him enough hope to last for the next few hours.

“Twelve hours.” He murmured, “Twelve hours is all you get before I leave this godforsaken island, Ray.” His lips tipped with a soft smile, “Whether you’re awake when I take you or not, is upto you.”

He took a step back, and slowly let go of her hand reluctantly before tucking them back in the pockets of his trousers roughly.

“Don’t let me down, Storm.”

* *

His walk out was devoid of any sound.

Any people.

The people guarding Ray’s door jerked at his presence but didn’t stop to stare. Wouldn’t when Angel turned his back to all of them and started walking towards the lobby of the hospital .

And as far as he knew, there was nothing in this entire world that could stop him from hunting Akash Smith down. He’d taken away his business, had disgraced him.

Had hurt Ray.

Click, clack came the sound of heels, loud enough for him to snap his head up in surprise.

Christina Morris ran in his direction, still clutching at the hem of her ruined gown as she ran expertly in his direction. He took a few steps forward before she reached him and placed a hand on his shoulder,

“Mia–” she started before her eyes cut to the lobby behind him and she paused abruptly. His brow arched as Christina took a step back and looked up at him seriously, “How is she?” she asked, not a catch in her voice.

Angel shook his head and shrugged, turning away from her, “She’s in a coma.” He replied tightly, “Nothing’s changed.”

Christina’s hazel eyes flared, “ Everything has changed. The chances of surviving a medically induced coma are far higher than a natural one. She’s fine.”

“What about Mia?” Angel deflected, unable to return her conviction despite the spirits with which he’d left Ray’s room. Christina barely blinked at his question and laced her hands together before responding,

“She did it. The vial worked.”

Angel’s eyes flared, a hot rage curling through him. Her shoulders straightened as he took a step forward and forced himself to breathe past his excitement, “Get everyone together. I don’t give a shit about what Kyle has to say. We better be on a flight out tonight.”

Twelve hours .

Christina nodded again and nudged her chin in the direction of the exit of the hallway, “We should get back to the house to get everything.”

And everyone, she didn’t add.

Angel looked past her shoulder and back at her again, “Send Mia and Jack with me,” he said, lowering his voice from any prying eyes,

“You and Luke can handle Kyle. They’ll have to stay here for Ray. And if not Kyle, Vera would be here.”

“Don’t,” he said and implored her to understand the gravity of his words, “Let Kyle get a whiff of this.”

This is mine.

Christina inclined her head in understanding, an equal amount of rage shining in her stance as she stepped back, “Miranda and Martin,” she said before walking away and Angel nodded in response, his fingers balling into tight fists at her words,

“Don’t worry about it.” He responded calmly and turned to move out the doors before she could continue speaking. He heard the click-clack of her heels echo away, and let loose an exhale. His blood was thrumming with anticipation at the thought of facing Akash again. It wasn’t going to be easy, and was probably going to end in more bloodshed, but at this point…

He couldn’t bring himself to care.