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Then—

Simone: I don’t know, but that man didn’t look like someone who walks away easily

I stare at the message. Something in it settles and unsettles me at the same time.

Because she’s right. Dalton doesn’t walk away easily.

He holds. He stays. He pushes when he thinks something matters.

So if he’s not doing any of that⁠—

I look at my phone again.

Still nothing.

“Then why?” I whisper.

The room is quiet. My phone stays silent. And for the first time since the party, I realize that not knowing what he’s thinking might be worse than anything he actually said.

My phone rings. I grab it before I even look at the screen.

“Dalton—”

“Good afternoon, Maggie.”

I freeze.

Not Dalton. Dr. Acharya.

I sit up straight on the couch, suddenly alert in a way I haven’t been all day. “Hello, doctor.”

His tone is polite, measured, the same as always. Nothing urgent, nothing panicked—but not casual either. “I’d like you to come into the clinic,” he says. “There’s something I’d prefer to discuss in person.”

My stomach tightens. “Is everything okay?”

“A routine matter,” he says. “But I would rather not handle it over the phone.”

That is not reassuring.

“When?” I ask.

“As soon as you’re able.”

I glance at the clock. It’s not even late afternoon yet.

“I can be there in an hour.”

“That’s fine,” he says. “I’ll be in my office.”

The call ends.

I stare at the phone for a second.

My head spins slightly as I stand up. “Okay,” I say to no one. “We’re doing this.”

The clinic feels… off. I notice it the moment I walk in.

It’s not empty, not exactly. There are patients, nurses, the usual quiet efficiency of a place that runs on schedules and routines. But something about it feels… thinner. Like a piece is missing.