The door opened softly, the faint squeak of rubber soles breaking the hush of the hospital room. Elara turned her head as morning light filtered through the blinds, carving pale lines across her bedsheet. Her team from the firm appeared in the doorway. Maya, her assistant, came in first with a basket of fruit; Julian, the firm's financial strategist, followed with a bouquet of flowers. Naomi, her communications lead, carried a small gift bag filled with scented candles, while Tom, the IT specialist, clutched an oversized card that read Get well soon! They were all trying a little too hard to smile.
"We heard you're doing better," Maya said gently, setting the basket beside her.
Elara offered a small, polite smile. "I'm fine."
Tom scratched his neck. "We, uh, got some work cleaned up for you. Everything's stable. You just rest."
Maya nodded quickly, eager to reassure. "The team's got your projects covered. You don't have to worry about anything."
Julian shifted his weight, glancing at the floor before adding, "The investors were a bit jumpy, but I smoothed things over. They just want you back soon."
Naomi smiled, her voice light but cautious. "We even drafted a short statement for the clients — something reassuring, nothing too formal."
Elara thanked them, accepted their gifts, and tried to listen as their voices circled around her like faint echoes. Julian joked about Tom's latest attempt to fix the office coffee machine, earning a small laugh from Naomi.
"It nearly flooded the break room," she said, shaking her head.
Tom grinned sheepishly, and Maya teased him about leaving repairs to professionals.
Their laughter should have felt familiar, but to Elara it sounded distant — as if she were hearing it through glass. No matter how she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about Leo.
A nurse came in to adjust her IV line, and the group, except for Maya, took it as their cue to leave. Each of them hugged her in turn, offering quiet words of comfort and promises to visit again. When the door finally closed behind them, the room felt a little emptier.
Maya moved to the sink, washed the fruit carefully, and began slicing it for Elara.
Elara leaned back against the pillow and stared at the flowers. Their scent was sweet — almost too sweet for the sterile air around her. She closed her eyes and let the fragrance pull her inward, away from the beeping monitors and footsteps outside.
Her phone sat on the tray table. She hadn't turned it back on since the message. She couldn't — not yet. The thought of seeing another warning made her chest tighten. Once in a while, it would vibrate, but she ignored it every time.
——————
A dark car slid out from an underground garage. It had tinted windows and a covered license plate. Leo gripped the wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
He drove through the early hours. Traffic lights blinked over empty intersections, steam drifted from manholes, and faint neon signs glowed through the morning haze. Every so often, he checked the rearview mirror, scanning for a tail. Someone could be following. He could never be sure.
A slim folder sat on the passenger seat. Inside was the flash drive from the other day. With everything that had happened, there was only one person who could help him make sense of it. Not his closest ally, but his only option. His father.
He hadn't spoken to his father in years. Not since the fallout, not after the things that man had done in the name of business and power. But now, there was no one else. Whoever had come after them had reach, surveillance, weapons, coordination and all of it pointed to serious money. And his father, Arthur Thorne, had more of it than anyone.
Leo pulled onto the expressway, the skyline unfolding ahead, glass and steel catching the morning sun. His thoughts shifted to Elara in the hospital and to when things between them were simpler. He remembered late nights at the pier, her laughter in the wind, and how she would challenge him to dream bigger when he wanted to give up. They had their fights, but she always brought him back. He tightened his grip on the wheel. Stay alive, Elara, he thought. Just a little longer.
Traffic thickened as he crossed the river. His father's empire spanned energy, technology, education, and private defense. If anyone could uncover who planned the pier attack, it was him. The issue wasn't power, it was trust.
Leo turned off toward the upper district, where security cameras watched his every move. The air felt thinner, and the tall buildings gleamed in the sunlight. He parked in front of a sprawling black-glass mansion. The guard at the gate recognized him instantly and silently pressed a button, letting the iron gates slide open.
Leo stepped out of the car, adjusted his jacket, and looked up at the mansion. The dark glass reflected his face back at him. Inside, the butler met him in the ante room, posture straight, expression unreadable.
"Mr. Thorne," he said with a slight nod. "Your father is expecting you." Leo returned the nod. Of course he was. His father always knew.
The elevator opened with a soft chime. Leo stepped in beside the butler. The mirrored walls caught their reflections — both stiff, both silent. Every second brought him closer to the man he had spent years trying to forget.
When the elevator stopped at the top floor, Leo stepped out into a wide corridor lined with tall windows and framed art. At the far end stood a pair of dark wooden doors, slightly open. From inside came a familiar voice that was deep, controlled and speaking to someone on the phone.
He paused. He could still turn back. But then he thought of the explosion, the gunmen, and Elara's terrified eyes. He stepped forward and pushed the doors open.
Arthur Thorne ended his call and looked up. Time hadn't softened him. His hair was white now, his suit pressed and black as night. His gaze was sharp and unyielding.
"Well," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. "My prodigal son returns. Tell me, who finally scared you enough to come home?"