Chapter 1: Zoe

The waiting room at The Royal London Emergency Department was a brightly lit, chaotic place. Harsh fluorescent lights overhead, casting multiple shadows on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air carried a mixture of antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood, with the stale undertone of bodies that had been there far too long. The sounds of beeping machines, murmured conversations, and occasional outbursts of pain filled the space, creating a discordant symphony that only added to the tension.

In one corner, a man slumped in his chair, head dipping precariously close to his chest. He reached up to rub his face with the heavy-handed carelessness of someone who had long forgotten what it felt like to be fully aware. A bottle protruded from his pocket. Another man, his eyes wild with leftover adrenaline from a brawl, paced back and forth, trailing blood from a deep cut on his arm “I need to be seen NOW”. He refused to sit, despite the triage nurse’s calm requests. Across the room, a woman sat hunched over, feverishly whispering "thank you, thank you, thank you" over and over to the nurse who had reassured her about a minor injury.

Niko sat on the edge of a hard plastic chair, his fingers gripping the seat so tightly that his knuckles were white. The noise around him blurred into a dull roar, but the clock on the wall ticked loudly, slicing through the fog in his mind. His eyes darted around, taking in the chaotic scene, but none of it registered. All he could think about was the call, the hurried journey here, and the one question that consumed him: Was she alive?

He had been waiting on the pavement by the Buddhist Centre on Globe Road, his bicycle beside him, when the call came. Zoe was late, as she often was, but he didn’t mind. He had finished work, revising all the choral parts for Misero giovane in the second act of Gluck’s Orphée et Eurydice. His mind had been full of the music, the intricate melodies swirling in his thoughts.

At 19:13, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The police. They confirmed his name and told him to come to the hospital immediately. Zoe had tried to call him before she lost consciousness, they said. Her phone was still open when the bus driver, after hearing the screech of horrified bystanders and a strange bump, had jumped out of his seat to see what had happened.

Niko didn’t remember much after that. Somehow, he ended up here, in this hellish waiting room. He didn’t even know if he had locked his bike - he had just run, his body moving on autopilot. Now, he sat surrounded by strangers, their troubles trivial in comparison to the black void of fear consuming him. The noise around him was just that - noise, obscuring the only thing he needed to know.

A nurse appeared, her voice cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. “Niko?” she called, her tone gentle but firm. He looked up, and she gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. “Would you come with me, please?”

He followed her down a corridor, the sounds of the waiting room fading behind him. She led him to a door and opened it, revealing a small, oddly comfortable room. It was decorated like a living room - plush sofas, framed art on the walls, a low coffee table with magazines neatly stacked. The lighting was warm, soft, a stark contrast to the harshness of the A&E. But the calmness of the room felt wrong, out of place, as if it was mocking the turmoil inside him.

“Please, take a seat,” the nurse said, gesturing to the sofa. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

Niko sat down, the cushion sinking under his weight. The room was stifling in its silence, every second stretching out as he waited. The nurse had stepped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the reality of the situation pressing down on him. He tried to focus on the art on the walls - some abstract landscape, the kind meant to be soothing - but it only made him feel more disconnected, more removed from everything.

The door opened again, and the doctor entered, his expression grave.

Niko saw the expression and knew before the words were spoken.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words. Grief hit immediately. A wave of raw, overwhelming pain that left him breathless. Zoe was gone. The world collapsed around him, leaving nothing but a void. 

“I know this is incredibly difficult,” the doctor said after a pause, “but we’ll need you to formally identify her.”

Niko blinked, the request pulling him back to the present. Identify her. The thought of seeing her, seeing her body, was too much to bear. But he nodded, because what else could he do? This was his responsibility now, the last thing he could do for her.

He followed the nurse down another corridor to the mortuary, where they kept the bodies. The cold air hit him as they entered, the antiseptic smell sharp in his nose. The nurse led him to a covered form on a table and gently pulled back the sheet. Niko steeled himself, forcing his eyes to look.

There she was - Zoe. But it wasn’t her. It was just a shell, a body. The warmth, the life, the essence of who she was - it was all gone. Niko’s breath caught in his throat as he nodded, confirming what they all knew. This was her, but it wasn’t her anymore.

The nurse covered her again, and Niko turned away, feeling more hollow than he ever thought possible. He had done what he needed to do, but there was no relief, no closure. Only a deep, aching void where his heart used to be.

The nurse walked him back to the quiet room and offering him a glass of water asked if there was anyone he wanted to call. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. But then he remembered - Zoe’s parents. He needed to call them. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but it had to be done.

He stared at the phone in his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen. Zoe’s parents. He had to call Zoe’s parents.

It felt like an impossible task, a cruel joke, as if making the call would make it real. The moment stretched, frozen, as he scrolled through his contacts. He found Michael’s name - Mike & Sarah - and for a second, he just stared at it, his mind blank. The name looked wrong, foreign now, detached from the reality he was living in. He blinked, trying to clear the fog, but the weight of what he was about to do bore down on him like an anchor pulling him into the dark.

His thumb trembled as it pressed the call button.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. He counted the rings, each one dragging on, as though the universe was offering him a few more precious seconds before everything shattered. Six, seven… maybe they weren’t picking up. Maybe he could try later. Maybe he didn’t have to do this now.

Finally, a voice on the other end, groggy and confused.

"Niko?" It was Michael. "Is everything alright? What’s going on?"

The sound of Michael’s voice, familiar and warm, hit him like a punch to the chest. How could he say it? How could he take that voice and break it with the truth? For a moment, Niko couldn’t breathe. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His thoughts scrambled for words, for something - anything - that would make sense.

“It’s…” His voice cracked. His grip tightened around the phone. The words were right there, simple and factual. Zoe’s dead. Just say it. But how?

Michael was still on the line, waiting, his tone now edged with concern. “Niko? What’s going on? Is Zoe okay?”

Niko’s throat burned. How could he say the words that would destroy this man’s world? He felt the weight of them, heavy and unbearable, trapped behind his lips.

“I… Mike…” He faltered. His mind screamed at him to just say it, to rip the bandage off, but his voice wouldn’t obey. He could see Zoe’s face in his mind, the way she’d laugh at something Michael had said, her eyes crinkling at the corners with joy. How could he take that away from him?

Michael’s voice sharpened with panic now. “Niko, what’s happening? Where’s Zoe?”

The pressure in his chest swelled, tightening like a vice. Niko swallowed hard, his pulse loud in his ears. He closed his eyes, forcing the words out before he could lose his nerve.

"Mike... Zoe’s—" His voice broke. He squeezed the phone so hard his fingers went numb. "Zoe’s dead."

There was silence on the other end. A long, suffocating silence. Niko could hear Michael’s breath hitch, hear the confusion in the pause, like he hadn’t understood, like the words didn’t compute.

"... What?" Michael’s voice was barely a whisper, fragile and disbelieving. "Niko, what are you saying?"

"I’m… I’m at the Hospital… The Royal London… Emergency… " Niko stammered, his voice raw, his words spilling out in broken fragments. "There was an accident. A bus. She didn’t… She didn’t make it."

The silence that followed was like a void, a hollow space where something important had been torn away. Niko sat there, staring blankly at the sterile hospital wall, the phone pressed to his ear, waiting for Michael to say something, anything. But all he could hear was the faint, uneven breathing on the other end of the line, the sound of someone trying to process the unthinkable.

And then, softly, the voice of a man unravelling. "No. No, no, no... Niko, no."

Niko felt the words like a blade twisting inside him, guilt and grief fusing together into something unbearable. He should’ve said more, should’ve prepared Michael, should’ve found the right words. But there were no right words. None of this was right.

“I’m sorry,” Niko choked out, the apology hanging limp in the air, meaningless in the face of what had happened.

On the other end, Michael’s breaths were coming quicker now, panicked. Niko heard Sarah’s voice faintly in the background, muffled and worried. "Michael? What’s wrong? Who’s on the phone?"

Niko’s heart sank further as he imagined Michael turning to her, his eyes wide with horror as he tried to explain what Niko had just told him. He felt sick, like he had taken a piece of their world and crushed it in his hands.

He heard Michael sob, a deep, wounded sound that tore through the line. It was the sound of a man realizing his daughter was gone, that nothing would ever be the same again.

“I… I have to go,” Niko whispered, his voice barely audible, as if saying any more might break him completely.

He didn’t wait for a reply. His hand moved on its own, cutting the call, ending the connection. He stared at the phone, still trembling, his mind numb and reeling. The hospital’s lights buzzed overhead, indifferent to the weight of the moment.

And then it hit him, all at once - the finality of it. He had just told Zoe’s parents their daughter was dead. He couldn’t believe he had just said it, that it was real. The nurse gently touched his arm, a small gesture of comfort as he sat there, feeling the world crumble around him.

After the call, the nurse guided him through the process. She explained that he could take his time, that they understood how overwhelming this was. They asked him to confirm her personal details and sign some paperwork, but it all felt mechanical, surreal. Niko moved through the motions, barely aware of what he was doing. They offered to arrange a taxi or call someone to pick him up, but Niko shook his head. He couldn’t bear the thought of going home, of being alone with his thoughts. Instead, he wandered out of the hospital like a ghost, the early morning air cold against his skin.

 

---

 

In the back of his mind, he knew she was still there, lying under a sheet on a cold table, lifeless. He imagined the nurses working around her, perhaps having a mundane conversation about their weekend plans. Why wouldn't they? Zoe was dead, after all. The thought twisted something deep inside him. They should have been in a restaurant tonight, sharing a meal, laughing about something trivial. Instead, he was here, and she was gone.

He considered stepping out in front of a car, but the thought of the driver’s trauma rather than some instinct for self-preservation stopped him just short. What should he do now? Why was he alive when she wasn't? The questions spiralled endlessly in his mind, each one more agonising than the last. He couldn't bear the thought of going home - what was there to go back to? A bed that felt too large, a flat filled with photos, perfumes, her clothes in the laundry basket, memories that were now just cruel reminders of what he had lost. He had no right to be comfortable, not while she was gone.

So he wandered the streets of London, moving through the city like a ghost. Often finding himself on a bridge looking out over the Thames whose water’s current appeared like a mass of writhing, black eels. The hours blurred together as he drifted aimlessly, his feet carrying him from one deserted street to another.

He found himself at St. Katharine Docks as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. The water shimmered, reflecting the pale sun, a new day beginning as if nothing had changed. Niko stared at the ripples, his mind numb, the events of the night playing on a loop in his head. Zoe’s laugh, the way she’d light up a room, the way her hair would catch the light - everything about her was so alive in his memory, and yet she was gone.

He couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t reconcile the vibrant, living woman he loved with the cold, lifeless body lying in that hospital. He pictured her there, on some sterile table, the nurses moving around her with practised efficiency, perhaps chatting about their weekend plans. The thought twisted in his gut, a sickening realization that the woman he loved was no longer there - just a body, an object, detached from everything she had been.

The morning light grew stronger and the city started waking up around him. The normalcy of it all felt like a betrayal. 

As the sun rose higher, Niko finally pulled out his phone. There were missed calls, messages from people who hadn’t yet heard the news, from colleagues at the opera, from friends who might have heard something was wrong. His hand shook as he opened the WhatsApp group for the orchestra. The rehearsal was scheduled for this morning - just hours from now - and they’d be expecting him.

But how could he possibly stand in front of them, how could he wave his baton and pretend that the music mattered? The opera once so consuming, now felt trivial. The idea of conducting, of moving forward as if nothing had happened, was unbearable.

His fingers hovered over the screen, the words forming in his mind before he could type them out. I can’t do this. He couldn’t face them, couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. But he had to tell them something. He owed them that much.

Niko started typing, his thoughts disjointed, each word feeling like a weight on his chest.

I don’t think I can continue with the opera right now. You might need to find another conductor. I’ll do what I can to help with the handoff, but I just… I can’t face it right now.

He stopped, staring at the message. It wasn’t enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain further. The words felt inadequate, small, in the face of what had happened. But what more could he say? How could he put into words the enormity of his loss, the way it had hollowed him out, leaving him empty and broken?

He hit send before he could overthink it, the message disappearing into the void. He didn’t know what would happen next - whether they would understand, whether they would demand an explanation but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The opera, the rehearsals, the deadlines - all absurd.

Niko’s phone buzzed in his hand, but he ignored it. He couldn’t deal with the fallout, couldn’t face the questions, the pity, the well-meaning offers of support. All he wanted was for the world to stop, to give him a moment to breathe, to process what had happened. But the world didn’t stop. It moved on, indifferent to his pain, and he had to figure out how to keep moving with it.

He stayed there by the docks, watching the water ripple in the morning light until his mother’s call finally broke through the haze. Helena’s voice, worried and full of concern, brought him back to the present, to the reality he couldn’t escape.

As soon as he heard her voice, something inside him broke. The wall he had built around his grief crumbled, and the tears he had held back all night finally came, overwhelming him.