The minutes between the call and the front office announcement felt like hours.

  Ethan y still on the cot now — they’d managed to lift him — but he didn’t stir.He looked like someone had drained the life out of him.

  Alex hovered near the wall, useless, stomach in a knot.

  Footsteps thundered down the hall.

  Two voices — frantic, overpping.

  “Where is he?”

  Ethan’s mom burst in first, face pale, hair frazzled like she’d sprinted the whole way.His dad followed right behind her, jaw tight, keys still in his fist like he’d driven here in a panic and forgotten to let go of them.

  The moment his mother saw Ethan’s limp form she gasped — a raw, breaking sound — and rushed to his side.

  “Oh my god, baby— Ethan? Ethan!”She grabbed his hand with both of hers like she could pull him back to consciousness by force alone.

  His dad’s voice was strained, trying — and failing — to stay steady.

  “What happened to him? Why — why does he look like that?”

  Mrs. Hartley looked exhausted herself.

  “He colpsed. This is beyond fatigue — I strongly recommend we get him to a hospital.”

  His mom brushed the hair off Ethan’s forehead, voice trembling.

  “He was fine this morning. He was—”She choked.

  Alex winced.

  No, he wasn’t fine.

  Not even close.

  Mr. Hartley turned sharply to Mrs. Hartley — anger and fear twisting together.

  “How does a fifteen-year-old get this bad without someone noticing?”

  It wasn’t accusing — it was the trembling voice of a terrified father who needed someone, anyone, to bme because the alternative was too frightening.

  Alex spoke before he realized he was talking.

  “He hasn’t been sleeping. Like… at all. For days, maybe.”

  Ethan’s mom snapped her gaze up to him — surprised, hurt, scared.

  Mrs. Hartley frowned softly.

  “That would expin a lot… but this level of exhaustion? It’s dangerous.”

  Ethan made a tiny sound in his sleep — a weak exhale, barely audible.

  His mom’s voice cracked.

  “Ethan, sweetheart, please… please wake up. Talk to us.”

  No response.

  A tear fell from her chin onto his knuckles.

  His dad’s hand shook as he pulled out his phone.

  “I’m calling an ambunce.”

  He didn’t wait for anyone to agree.Just stepped into the hallway with trembling fingers.

  Alex stood there frozen, useless again.

  Mrs. Hartley tapped Ethan’s wrist gently, checking again for pulse — strong, steady, but way too slow.

  His mom whispered to no one in particur:

  “He didn’t tell us. He didn’t… why didn’t he tell us he felt this bad?”

  Alex swallowed.

  He knew why.

  Because every time Ethan found joy, peace — himself — it came with a timer.Came with a neckce.Came with going back.

  Of course he didn’t want to stop.

  Even if it killed him.

  Alex clenched his jaw.

  He didn’t know the truth — not fully — but he could see pain when it was beating someone to death.

  And Ethan looked like he’d been fighting his own head for a very long time.

  Sirens grew faint in the distance.

  It suddenly felt like everything was changing, and nothing was ready for it.

  Especially Ethan.