Meanwhile, at the local health center, Hadley’s eyes fluttered open. Weakness pervaded her limbs, but no serious injuries were apparent. The landslide had imprisoned her within a cramped cavity, yet fortune had smiled upon her—the confined space had become a protective cocoon. Extended compression had impaired circulation in her extremities, though doctors anticipated a full recovery.

From the moment of her rescue, Tamara had maintained a vigilant bedside presence.

“You’re finally awake? How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” Hadley said, mentally checking her body and finding no significant pain. “Where exactly am I?”

“You’re at the local health center.”

Fragments of memory began reassembling themselves. Through the haze of semi-consciousness, Hadley believed she had glimpsed Eric. Had he replaced her underground, bearing the weight that should have crushed her? Could it have been real, or merely the product of her traumatized imagination? Her thoughts were too muddled to distinguish reality from fantasy.

Hadley’s brow furrowed as she studied Tamara’s expression, her voice tentative. “Did Eric… did he come here?”

Tamara’s body went rigid for an instant before she shook her head definitively. “No.”

It wasn’t that she wanted to lie, but she was following explicit orders Eric had given through Phillips. If Hadley awoke without asking about him, Tamara was permitted to remain silent. However, if Hadley posed direct questions, Tamara’s duty required an outright denial.

As for Eric’s motive, Tamara neither questioned it nor dared to probe deeper. Professional boundaries prevented such curiosity from a subordinate.

Tamara’s response left Hadley reeling, a profound sense of displacement washing over her. So it had all been an illusion?

A hollow laugh escaped her lips as she mocked her own foolishness. What had she been thinking? How could her subconscious conjure such elaborate fantasies in the midst of real danger? Had some buried part of her been hoping for his rescue?

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She ridiculed her wishful thinking, shaking her head in self-deprecating denial. He hadn’t come for her. Years ago in Blathe, when she carried Joy and was drowning in desperation, he had abandoned her then, too. Why would now be any different? Even when she bore the title of his wife, he had been absent during her darkest hours. Now there was even less reason for him to come.

Nothing more than her mind’s cruel fabrication. Such an achingly realistic dream, though.

Hadley’s eyes dropped to her hands as fragments of memory returned—the way she had clung to him, refusing to abandon their shared danger. She remembered pleading, “Together, together…” But none of it had been real.

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Hadley shifted in bed, turning to get more comfortable. She felt a strange sensation at her hip, as if something were poking her. What could it be? She ran her hand over the sheets but felt nothing out of place. Then she realized it was inside her pants pocket.

Curious, she reached in and pulled out a braided bracelet with a small peach-pit whistle tied to it. Why did it look so familiar? Her brow furrowed, and then she remembered. It was just like the one Eric always wore. She had casually made that peach-pit whistle for him while playing with Joy. He’d liked it so much he had it polished and wore it proudly on his wrist. But the one she held now had a grimy, mud-caked string and… was that blood on it?

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