Ella's fingers gripped the child's hand like a lifeline as they ran—boots crunching through snow, breath ragged, adrenaline roaring louder than the bullets behind them.
Elara didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She just looked up at Ella with wide, trusting eyes.
And somehow, that silent trust tore Ella apart more than anything else.
Behind them, Leon had disappeared into the woods, drawing the men away with a trail of blood in the snow.
He didn't look back.
Not once.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She came for answers. Closure. Maybe even redemption.
Not this.
Not gunfire. Not secret children. Not a man ready to die—for her.
For their daughter.
The word still echoed like a curse.
Daughter.
Had the world played her for a fool?
Or had he shielded her from a truth too fragile to survive in daylight?
The mountain was no longer serene.
It was a beast gnashing its teeth, snow turning crimson with consequence.
And Ella—once a queen of the stage—was now just a mother in flight, running through chaos like a fallen star trying to outrun its own gravity.
She ducked into a stone chapel on the hillside, heart pounding like war drums.
Pulled Elara close.
Whispered against her hair, "I've got you. I swear, I've got you."
The little girl finally spoke.
In a trembling whisper.
"Is Daddy going to die again?"
Again.
Again.
Before Ella could answer, the chapel doors creaked.
A figure stepped inside.
Not Leon.
Not the men in suits.
But an old man, hunched and cloaked, holding something in his hand.
A worn leather journal.
He looked at her.
"You're Ella Shen," he said.
"I was told… if he didn't come back alive, I should give this to you."
And when she took the journal and flipped to the first page—
She saw Leon's handwriting.
"For the day you learn everything."