@eldarkovali
Her reasoning for returning to the hospital was twofold: the pull of the fallout, the secrets to be collected in the rubble -- and Azra. Wesley had no business worrying for anyone but herself, she knew, but after leaving Nora’s with pen in hand and hunger for answers clawing at the cage of her bones, she could not help but wonder what had become of her. They had spoken but briefly before the bomb had gone off, with Alp and Nora clamoring to keep her from disappearing as she had. It was no business of her own to go seeking her out, and yet she wasn’t -- but it would not hurt to let her gaze linger overlong on each open doorway that she passed as she darted in and out, slipping between clusters of frazzled nurses and gurneys covered in soot and blood.
Had she any less of a constitution, she might have lost what little she had been able to nibble on at Nora’s; were she not so tired, she may have felt the sting of the destruction more acutely. But her hands hurt, her eyes stung, and she was hungry. Her phone -- still hot from the harried conversation she’d had in the alley outside with the news outlets -- buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. There were too many people to hound, too many doorways to listen behind.
But she stopped, then, as she spotted a familiar face down the hall. A lesser woman would have run. But what would he do here? Strangle her? Shoot her? There were worse places to be shot than a hospital, she figured. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and all at once she reached down and produced it, flipping on the voice recorder and stuffing it back within the ashen fabric of her jacket. She met his gaze, then, and dared.
But, then, she knew who had done this. She had seen them. Were he smart, she figured, he would know just how valuable her whistleblower’s tongue truly was.