Freya's POV
It took a considerable amount of effort to relocate Kingsley to his own room.
After sweating, I went to take another shower before lying down on the bed and slipping into a deep sleep.
The following day, upon waking up, I descended the stairs.
Kingsley, who had returned to his usual self, was having his breakfast. Upon noticing me, he turned his head awkwardly and mumbled, "Your breakfast is ready and still hot."
I flinched momentarily, then responded, "Thank you, but I need to head to the hospital now."
Unexpectedly, Kingsley chimed in, asking, "Do you need a ride?"
I froze for a moment and replied, "Don't bother. I still need to go to the theater after my visit to the hospital. You can go to deal with your own things."
With that, I departed and soon found myself en route to the hospital.
My mother Livia's condition remained unchanged.
Since that day when she had reacted to watching the videotape chronicling my life from childhood to adulthood, there hadn't been any other signs of movement in the past few days.
The caregiver had played all the tapes as per my previous instructions.
Although Livia didn't exhibit any overt reactions, her heart rate fluctuated upon hearing a few of the tapes.
I couldn't deny a tinge of disappointment upon hearing this. After all, the likelihood of someone in a vegetative state awakening is extremely low, and miracles aren't easily wrought.
I flipped through the tapes that the caregiver had selected; they all revolved around my birthdays. However, I couldn't discern any disparities among these tapes.
Suddenly, the caregiver called me over.
I snapped back to reality and set the videotapes on the table. In doing so, I accidentally dropped one, causing all the tapes to tumble to the floor.
In a flurry, the caregiver was about to bend down to retrieve them. As I looked up, I was abruptly taken aback and exclaimed, "Don't move!"
Startled, the caregiver froze in place.
Without completing my sentence, I approached and crouched down to inspect the videotapes. The labels on these tapes were all marked with distinct pen numbers.
I picked up the videotape and stood up to go through the rest of the tapes.
Among the approximately two hundred tapes, only these were labeled with numbers.
Was this mere coincidence?
I leaned down and retrieved those videotapes, my expression becoming grave.
What exactly do these numbers signify? Why did my mother react this way upon hearing about these videotapes?
Could she have been trying to convey something?
Were these numbers some sort of code?
However, I didn't remember that there was something like a safe at home.
Furthermore, these numbers were so secretive; if the videotape hadn't fallen to the ground, I wouldn't have noticed them.
My mother wrote the numbers here, obviously with the intention of keeping others from finding out.
What on earth was it that she wanted to conceal in this manner?
I contemplated for a moment, took clear pictures of those videotapes, then destroyed the notes and returned them to the stack.
Reclining on the soft couch, I flipped open my cellphone to view the pictures I had taken earlier and pondered.
If these numbers are a password, there must be a sequence, right? What kind of sequence could it be?
Since the numbers were hidden on the videotape, they must be related to the content of the videotape. Could it be the date of recording?
I checked and found that the dates of a few tapes were overlapped.
In this way, I can be certain that the numbers aren't related to the recording date.
I pondered for a while and truly couldn't come up with any valuable clues, so I could only give up.
After attending to my mother for a while, I stood up and left the hospital.
Unexpectedly, downstairs, I ran into Finley. "Hey Finley, what brings you here?"
Finley responded casually, "I'm here to see the doctor."
I remembered that Finley used to be a formidable werewolf warrior in the pack before he became a lawyer.
Only after sustaining severe injuries in a battle was he compelled to abandon his prideful fighting career and instead become a lawyer.
Thinking he was referring to his past injuries, I inquired, "Aren't you fully recovered now?"
Finley didn't answer verbally; he simply rolled up his shirt sleeve, and I was abruptly silenced.
Above his wrists were extensive burn scars, with grotesque skin that resembled coiled sarcomas encircling his slender arms. The sight was truly startling.
I hadn't realized that his previous injuries had actually involved some of the most challenging burns to heal.
Through those contorted scars, I felt like I could catch a glimpse of the ferocity of that battle.
My heart constricted, and I looked away.
Finley calmly adjusted his sleeve, offering a faint smile, and said gently, "Scared, huh?"
I suddenly felt a bit remorseful for the way my eyes had widened in shock. Hurriedly, I mumbled, "I'm sorry..."
"It's okay," Finley replied nonchalantly, "Even I get scared looking at it myself sometimes."
I slowed down for a moment before whispering, "It's not exactly a shock, just a little uncomfortable..."
Pausing, I lowered my voice even further, "You must have endured a lot of pain back then..."
Finley's movements faltered briefly, and then he responded, "It's been too long; I can't remember much."
Quickly, I added, "It's a good thing you can't remember. Those painful memories are better off forgotten."
A sudden realization dawned on me – it seemed that every time we met, Finley's shirt was meticulously buttoned up to the top, with his sleeves always covering his wrists.
Although it wasn't particularly warm at the moment, he remained tightly wrapped up.
A wave of guilt swept over me for impulsively bringing up someone else's scars.
At this time, an angry shout suddenly came as I was taken aback, "Freya!"
Before I could even turn around, a figure dashed to my side, gripping my wrist and pulling me towards him.
Just as I looked up, I caught a glimpse of Kingsley's irritated expression, his gaze fixed on Finley with displeasure.
By this point, Finley had respectfully stepped aside, saying, "Alpha Kingsley."
Kingsley responded with a cold nod.
I yanked my hand back from Kingsley's grasp and glared at him, demanding, "What are you doing here?"
Kingsley glanced at me and replied with indifference, "I came to bring you back."
Wide-eyed, I stared at him, conveying my surprise without words.
Without further ado, Kingsley once again took hold of my hand and stated, "Let's go."
With that said, he tugged me away, and we left in haste.