Doctor Patel’s Envelope
My hand still trembled from the cold hallway, the scent of antiseptic clinging to my skin as I stared at the empty hallway where Julian had been taken.
A voice cut through the murmur of nurses. “Maya?” Dr. Patel stepped out from the lobby, his coat still damp from the rain.
He held out a sealed envelope, the paper crisp, the edges slightly singed as if it had been tucked away for weeks.
“Julian gave this to me three weeks ago,” he said, eyes flicking to my bruised cheek. “He wanted you to have it the moment you were ready.”
I felt the envelope’s weight, the faint imprint of his scrawl on the flap.
“Open it now,” he urged, his voice low, the urgency in it like a warning.
My fingers broke the seal, the paper rustling like a gasp. Inside lay a single sheet, Julian’s neat handwriting looping across the page.
He wrote, “I’m part of the trial. If this works, we could change everything. I’m the first—” The words stopped abruptly, a jagged line where his pen lifted.
My heart slammed against my ribs. “What trial?” I whispered, the hallway lights flickering, casting long shadows over his worried face.
He swallowed, eyes darting to the doorway. “You’ll understand when you read it.”
