The note wasn't signed. Just a folded slip of paper, carefully wedged between patient charts on her desk. Midnight. East stairwell. No instructions, no threats. But Nora knew exactly who it came from. And more importantly, she knew why.
At 11:58, she stood alone in the stairwell. The corridor was lit in pale blue, the kind of light that makes everything feel slightly unreal. The silence hummed beneath her skin, like something waiting to be broken. She climbed slowly, her footsteps echoing like an announcement she didn't have to make. By the time she reached the third landing, he was already there.
Arthur Brenner stood with his back to the window, hands clasped neatly in front of him like a man about to give a speech. But there was no performance left in his posture. Only control. Thin, fragile, slipping control.
"You've been making quite a mess," he said without turning.
Nora didn't reply. She didn't need to.
He faced her fully then, and for the first time, there was no politeness in his eyes. Just exhaustion masked as calm, and rage hiding behind years of power. "You always were ambitious," he continued. "But I didn't expect sabotage."
"I'm not sabotaging," she said calmly. "I'm documenting."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like every movement was still calculated for effect. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to this institution? To its people?"
"Yes," she answered. "I'm doing what none of you had the spine to do. I'm telling the truth."
Brenner let out a breath that could have been a laugh if there had been any humor left in him. "The truth is complicated, Nora. It's not black and white. It's layers. Context. Memory. But you" He gestured to her with two fingers, sharp like a scalpel. "You're slicing it open with no anesthesia."
"You mean I'm finally making people feel what Lily felt," she said. Her voice didn't rise, but the weight of it filled the stairwell.
He stopped walking. For a second, his mask cracked just slightly but it was enough. Enough to see the fear, the panic beneath. "I could end this for you," he said. "Quietly. You walk away, this disappears. No trial, no career-ending fallout. Just... silence. You're good at silence, aren't you?"
"I was," she said. "Before I learned how much it cost."
He narrowed his eyes. "Think very carefully about your next move, Nora. You don't just lose your job. You lose your reputation. Your license. You'll be blacklisted. No hospital will touch your name again."
"Then I'll make sure yours burns with mine," she replied. "Only difference is, I've got proof."
He stared at her. Really stared. But she didn't flinch.
Not anymore. Not after everything.
"You sound just like your mother," he said quietly.
Nora tilted her head. "That's the first honest thing you've ever said to me."
She turned to leave. Walked slowly, with purpose, her back straight, every step a declaration.
He didn't follow.
He didn't speak again.
And as the door closed behind her, the sound it made was final.