My eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, all I saw was white—blinding, endless white. The brightness stung until my eyes slowly adjusted, and shapes began to take form around me. Then I heard mechanical beeps—steady, distant. The air carried a sterile, faintly metallic scent that clung to my throat. It was sharp. Unfamiliar.
Little by little, my senses returned, piecing the world back together.
"Elara?" I heard Maya's voice.
"You're awake," she whispered. "God, you scared me."
I felt my lips dry. "Where am I?" I asked, my throat sore as I tried to sit up.
Maya noticed and hurried to help me. "You're at St. Thomas General Hospital. You've been out since last night."
I nodded a thank you once I could sit properly. Slowly, my memories returned, piece by piece. The pier. The shadows. The explosion. Leo's voice.
Leo.
"How did I get here?" I asked, my chest tightening. Please, let him be okay.
Maya hesitated. "They said a man brought you in. Didn't give a name. He left when they were attending to you."
A man. I closed my eyes and let out a silent prayer. Oh, Leo, let it be you.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. My heart leapt. Please, Leo.
A single message glowed on the screen:
Don't talk to anyone. They're still listening.
The sender's name was blank. My breath hitched as I stared down at the message.
"Elara?" Maya's voice broke through my thoughts. "What is it?" she asked, her tone lined with concern.
"Spam," I lied quickly, locking the screen before she could see.
Leo had said something like this last night. Could he be the sender?
The phone buzzed again. This time it was a call. No caller ID.
I hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello?" I tried again, my voice sharper. Nothing. I waited a few seconds, then ended the call.
What in heaven's name was that about?
My hand trembled as I lowered the phone.
"Elara, what's wrong?" Maya asked softly.
I forced a shaky smile. "Nothing. Just a wrong number."
She didn't believe me. I could see it in her eyes. But she didn't press, and I was grateful for that. She just sat quietly, watching me with worry that she tried to hide.
The air in the room felt heavier now. The soft beeping of the monitor echoed like a ticking clock. I turned toward the window, the light spilling across the bed in fractured beams. The world outside was still moving, unaware that mine had cracked open.
Somewhere out there, Leo was alive. I could feel it. I just didn't know for how long.
A shadow flickered across the window. I turned, startled—but it was only the curtain shifting in the draft from the air conditioner. Still, the unease lingered, curling low in my stomach. Every sound—the footsteps in the hallway, the soft squeak of rubber soles—felt amplified, deliberate.
I lay back against the pillows, pretending to rest, but my eyes stayed open. My phone sat face-down on the table beside me. I could almost feel it pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat. Whoever had sent that message knew I was awake.
The city was already awake when Leo opened his eyes.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He had been sitting behind his desk, face pressed against his folded arms. His shoulder throbbed. He flexed it gently. The wound from last night wasn't deep, but it burned with every movement.
A cup of coffee sat untouched beside his keyboard.
He pressed a key; the monitor flickered to life, cold blue light washing over his tired face.
They'd covered their tracks—wiped the servers, spoofed the cameras, jammed every signal he'd tried to pull. It was professional. Clean. Too clean.
He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion dragging at him. His mind drifted back to the pier: the echo of the blast, the firelight flashing off the water, Elara's body going limp in his arms. He had carried her through the smoke and chaos, left her at the hospital, then vanished before the sirens could find him. He couldn't risk being seen.
He'd thought about calling her this morning, asking if she was okay. But he hadn't. Not yet. Not until he knew who was still watching.
He stood, pacing the narrow space between his desk and the window. His reflection stared back at him in the glass—eyes rimmed with red, face drawn tight with exhaustion. He barely recognized himself anymore.
Liu's drive sat on the edge of his desk. He had paid a private investigator to retrieve it, and it had arrived cracked, barely functional. Still, it was all he had. He'd spent the night trying to decrypt it. Each time, it crashed halfway through.
He tried again. Again. Always the same result.
The shower did little to help. The hot water only deepened the ache in his muscles. When he stepped out, he felt hollow, like someone running in circles inside his own mind.
He pulled on a dark shirt, threw on a jacket, grabbed his keys, and left his apartment.
Outside, the streets pulsed with motion—commuters, taxis, vendors shouting over the rumble of engines. He kept his eyes on the road as he drove to his office.
His distrust had cost him his driver and most of his staff. A reckless decision, maybe, but necessary. In a city where his company's name carried weight, anonymity was his only shield. If anyone discovered the face behind the brand, his life could unravel in hours.
His office was twelve floors up in a glass tower. The receptionist greeted him as he walked past. He nodded once, entered his office, and went straight to his desk.
He turned on his system and plugged in Liu's drive. The decryption began, slow but steady. While he waited, he sifted through the files scattered across his desk, his mind elsewhere.
After a while, a notification blinked on the screen—the decryption was complete.
Leo sat up, pulse quickening. He clicked the file. The document took its time loading, lines of code flickering, shifting, then resolving into text.
He leaned closer.
And froze.