UNTIE ME

​​AARON

​​The quiet of the study pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. Papers lay scattered across the desk, filled with reports and plans, every detail essential, every step accounted for. In six days, I'd be in Asia, personally overseeing the final stages of this operation. It was supposed to give me a sense of control, a semblance of order in the midst of chaos.

But none of it felt as steady as it should. My mind kept straying to the meeting earlier. The way Ella looked, calm and composed as always, yet distant. I could sense the walls she'd put up, even if she thought they were hidden. There was something unspoken lingering in the air between us. And that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

I took a deep breath, reaching for the glass of water on the desk, when a sudden, sharp cough raked through my chest. I braced myself, gripping the edge of the desk, as another cough forced its way out, then another, harsher and deeper each time. My lungs felt like they were being scraped raw from the inside, the burning sensation spreading with each racking cough.

It was worse than usual. And it wasn't letting up.

When the fit finally subsided, I leaned back in my chair, breathing heavily, my chest aching. I'd been pushing these episodes aside, ignoring them as much as I could. I didn't have time to be concerned about myself. I had to focus. I had a mission to prepare for. But with each passing day, the coughing had gotten worse, the strain harder to brush off.

My eyes drifted to the cabinet in the corner of the room. I stood up, my steps unsteady, and reached inside to grab the bottle of medicine. The label was worn from use, the edges smudged. I'd been relying on this for weeks, but even its bitter relief was beginning to feel like a hollow solution.

I poured the last dose of pills into my hand, counting them without realizing it.

 One.

 Two.

 Three.

 Enough to get me through the next few hours, perhaps, but I knew that was it. The bottle was empty.

A strange pang hit me as I swallowed the pills, the bitterness coating my throat as I forced them down. I set the bottle back in the cabinet, hollow and useless now, a reminder that I'd run out of time in more ways than one.

I closed the cabinet door, trying to ignore the weight pressing down on my chest—not from the coughing, but from the reality that I'd been denying. I was leaving in six days, and I had no time to worry about finding more medicine, no time to stop and consider what might be happening to me.

I turned back to the desk, forcing my attention back to the papers. The plan was solid. I was prepared. I had to be.

But in the silence that filled the room, I couldn't ignore the nagging thought creeping into my mind: the sense that I was running out of more than just medicine.

I was running out of time.