The message blinked on her screen again.
"They know your real name, get out now!"
For a moment, Elena just stood there, the hallway spinning around her.
The words seemed to burn through the phone, lighting every nerve on fire. Her throat tightened, her breath coming too fast.
She looked up, scanning the corridor. The glass walls reflected empty offices and dim lights, but suddenly, the building didn't feel as safe as it used to. Every reflection felt like a watcher. Every shadow, a threat.
She hit the elevator button, once, twice, too quickly. The doors slid open with an echo that sounded far too loud in the silence.
As soon as she stepped inside, she typed back:
Who is this? What did they find?
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.
No reply.
Her pulse thudded. She jammed the phone into her coat pocket and exhaled shakily, forcing herself to focus. Panic was dangerous; it made people careless. And carelessness was what got her killed the first time.
When the elevator reached the lobby, she stepped out, pulling her hood over her head. The receptionist gave her a polite smile, but Elena barely noticed. Her mind was spinning.
Who could have connected her to her old identity?
Her records had been sealed. Her face changed slightly from the reconstructive surgeries after the fire. The only link left was her work and that was something only someone inside Phoenix could trace.
She was almost at the revolving doors when her phone buzzed again.
Unknown: You're being watched. Don't go home.
Her feet froze mid-step.
A tall figure appeared in the reflection of the glass doors, someone walking toward her from the far end of the lobby. The air seemed to shift. For a heartbeat, she thought it might be him.
And then it was.
Adrian.
His coat was unbuttoned, his steps unhurried, but his eyes, dark, alert, searching, locked on her like he already knew something was wrong.
"Elena," he called softly, but she didn't turn. She forced herself to keep walking.
"Elena!"
She hesitated, just enough for him to reach her.
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice low but edged. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Her lips parted, a bitter irony she almost laughed at. "Just tired," she said, trying to sound casual.
He didn't buy it. His hand came up, gently catching her wrist. "Don't lie to me."
The touch startled her, not because it hurt, but because of the warmth. It felt too familiar, too dangerous.
She pulled back. "Let me go, Adrian."
"Not until you tell me what's happening."
Something in his tone made her pause. It wasn't authority; it was concern. The kind that cracked through his usual calm like a fault line.
She took a shaky breath. "Someone's leaking company information," she said carefully. "You should focus on that."
He frowned. "Don't deflect."
"I'm not."
"Elena."
His voice dropped lower, and the sound of her name from his lips nearly undid her composure. "If you're in trouble, I need to know."
She looked up at him. The man who once promised her forever, now standing there with eyes that still held too much of the past.
The same eyes that watched her die.
"I can handle myself," she said quietly.
He didn't move, but something shifted in his expression, worry, frustration, something like guilt. "Then at least let me drive you home."
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed no, but refusing would draw more attention.
"Fine," she said. "Just to the corner."
The rain had returned by the time they reached the parking lot, falling in thin silver lines across the windshield. Adrian drove in silence for a while, the only sound the hum of the engine and the rhythmic sweep of wipers.
Elena sat rigid, her phone hidden in her lap, thumb hovering over the last message.
Don't go home.
She turned her face toward the window, but she could feel him glance at her every few seconds.
Finally, he spoke. "You didn't deny it."
"Deny what?"
"That you're in trouble."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Why does it matter to you?"
He slowed at a red light, the city lights washing across his face. "Because I've lost too many people without a warning."
The honesty in his voice disarmed her. He wasn't the cold CEO now just the man she used to love, broken but still trying to protect what little he could.
"Not everyone needs saving, Adrian."
"Maybe not," he said softly, "but that doesn't mean I'll stop trying."
The light turned green. Neither of them moved for a moment. Then he drove on, his jaw set.
A few blocks later, she finally spoke. "You can drop me here."
He pulled over by a quiet corner café, the kind that stayed open long after midnight. She unbuckled her seatbelt, but before she could open the door, his voice stopped her again.
"You don't have to keep running," he said.
She froze. "I'm not running."
"Then what are you doing?"
She turned, her hand still on the door handle. "Surviving."
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the air was thick with all the words they never said. Then she stepped out into the rain.
Adrian watched her go a shadow slipping into the blur of neon and mist and something deep in his chest twisted. He didn't know why, but every time she walked away, it felt like losing her all over again.
Elena waited until his car disappeared before she exhaled. She crossed the street, ducking into a narrow alley beside the café, pulling her phone out again.
Elena: Who are you? Tell me where to go.
This time, the reply came fast.
Unknown: Not safe to text. Look behind you.
Her breath caught. She turned sharply but there was only darkness.
And then a figure stepped out of the shadows.
It wasn't Ryan.
It wasn't anyone she recognized.
A man in a dark raincoat, cap pulled low, his voice barely above a whisper. "Miss Hart."
The old name sliced through her like a blade.
He extended something , a flash drive, small and silver. "He's back. And he's looking for you."
Her voice trembled. "Who?"
The man glanced over his shoulder. "The one who tried to finish it five years ago."
Before she could speak again, he pressed the drive into her palm and disappeared into the night.
Elena stood frozen, rain soaking through her coat, her heart pounding like thunder.
The flash drive felt heavy in her hand, heavier than truth, heavier than memory.
She looked down at it, the faint city lights reflecting off the metal surface.
Then she whispered to herself, "So it begins again."