7:15 AM – St. Ignatius Hospital
The morning light filtered through the hospital windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Benjamin Moore adjusted his cufflinks as he strolled through the corridors, his usual smirk in place. The scent of antiseptic and freshly brewed coffee filled the air—another day, another round of playing savior.
He paused outside Room 214, where a middle-aged woman, Mrs. Eleanor Grayson, lay recovering from a bypass surgery he'd performed two days prior.
"Dr. Moore!" she exclaimed, her face brightening as he entered. "You've got magic hands, you know that?"
Benjamin chuckled, checking her vitals. "Just ask Cleopatra. Though, to be fair, she had a thing for Romans, not surgeons."
Mrs. Grayson laughed, wincing slightly at the pain. "You're a strange one, Doctor."
"Strange keeps things interesting," he said, scribbling notes on her chart. "You're healing well. Another day or two, and you'll be terrorizing your grandchildren again."
She grinned. "God willing."
Benjamin's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
God. Hades. Fate.
He pushed the thought aside.
9:30 AM – ICU Rounds
The ICU was quieter today. No flatlines. No frantic shouts. Just the steady beeping of monitors and the occasional murmur of nurses.
Benjamin paused at Bed 7—now empty.
The sheets were crisp, sanitized, as if Mr. Greer had never been there at all.
Forty-eight hours. Right on time.
A voice cut through his thoughts.
"Dr. Moore."
He turned. Dr. Evelyn Thorne stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun. Her expression was unreadable.
Benjamin arched a brow. "Ah, the wrath of Thorne descends. Should I kneel or just brace for impact?"
She didn't smile. "My office. Now."
9:45 AM – Dr. Thorne's Office
The door clicked shut behind them. Thorne didn't sit. She didn't offer him a seat either.
"Harold Greer died last night," she said, her voice clipped.
Benjamin leaned against the bookshelf, feigning nonchalance. "Pneumonia complications?"
"Massive myocardial infarction."
He hummed. "Ah. Heart attack. Unfortunate."
Thorne's eyes narrowed. "You said he'd die in forty-eight hours."
Benjamin tilted his head. "Did I?"
"Don't play dumb. Jack told me."
Damn it, Jack.
Benjamin sighed, rubbing his temple. "Alright, fine. I had a… gut feeling."
"A gut feeling." Her tone was drier than a desert wind.
"Happens more than you'd think," he said, flashing a grin. "Surgeons develop instincts. Like how Caesar knew not to trust Brutus. Gut feelings save lives."
Thorne wasn't amused. "You're not Caesar. And this isn't a history lesson."
Benjamin pushed off the shelf, his smirk fading. "What do you want me to say, Evelyn? That I'm psychic? That I saw Death lurking in the corner with a stopwatch?"
She studied him. "I want the truth."
"Truth is overrated. Ask Oedipus."
A beat of silence. Then—
"Get out."
Benjamin gave a mock bow. "As you command, oh mighty healer."
He turned toward the door—
And froze.
A chill slithered down his spine.
Someone's watching.
His gaze flicked to the corner of the room.
Nothing. Just shadows.
But the feeling didn't fade.
Thorne frowned. "What?"
Benjamin forced a smirk. "Just admiring your décor. Minimalist. Austere. Very… underworld chic."
She rolled her eyes. "Out."
He left.
But the eyes lingered.
10:30 AM – Hospital Cafeteria
Jack Norris slid into the seat across from Benjamin, a coffee in hand.
"So. You're alive."
Benjamin sipped his own coffee. "Barely. Thorne's considering having me excommunicated. Or burned at the stake. Hard to tell with her."
Jack winced. "Sorry, man. I didn't think she'd grill you like that."
"No, you just thought you'd toss me to the wolves for fun."
"I was freaked out!" Jack hissed, leaning in. "You called his death to the hour. What the hell, Ben?"
Benjamin swirled his coffee. "Lucky guess."
"Bullshit."
"Fine. Educated guess. His EKG showed early signs of arrhythmia. I just… extrapolated."
Jack stared. "You're lying."
Benjamin met his gaze. "And you're paranoid."
A tense silence.
Then Jack exhaled, rubbing his face. "Whatever. Just… don't do it again. People are talking."
"People always talk. Half this hospital still thinks I sleep with a skeleton in my closet."
Jack snorted. "Do you?"
Benjamin grinned. "Only on weekends."
But his fingers tightened around the cup.
Still being watched.
3:00 PM – Parking Garage
The shadows stretched long as Benjamin headed toward his car. The day had been uneventful—no more death predictions, no more interrogations.
Just the usual rhythm of stitches and scalpels.
He pressed the key fob. The BMW chirped.
Then—
A shift in the air.
Benjamin froze.
The garage was silent. Too silent.
No footsteps. No distant voices. Just the faint hum of fluorescent lights.
And eyes.
Watching.
His pulse kicked up.
"Hello?"
No answer.
Benjamin turned slowly, scanning the shadows between the cars.
Nothing.
Get a grip, Moore.
He exhaled sharply and reached for the car door—
A reflection in the window.
Glowing.
Red.
Benjamin spun.
The garage was empty.
But for a single, fleeting moment, he could've sworn—
Ember-lit eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
Knowing.