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(Elara's POV)The clinic was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the heavy, pressurized stillness of a tomb. The only thing breaking it was the hum of the air filter and the rhythmic, hollow beep of Silas’s heart monitor.Morning light cut through the blinds in sharp, golden slats, but it didn't make the room feel any warmer. My neck was a knotted mess from sleeping in that rigid chair, and my eyes felt like someone had rubbed sand into them.Peter was hunched over a laptop in the corner, his face washed in a sickly blue light. He hadn't muttered a word in an hour. By the window, Charles stood like a gargoyle, arms crossed, staring down at the parking lot. He was waiting for the world to break.Mercer was a shadow behind the door—always there, always silent.The vibration of my phone on the plastic nightstand felt like a physical jolt. I didn't recognize the number. I let it buzz a few time
(Elena's POV)The silence after Silas slept again was different. It was not the quiet of waiting. It was the quiet of a decision made. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.Charles moved first. He picked up the gray ledger from the side table with precise movements. He flipped it open to Thorne’s page, his eyes scanning the cold, clinical text."Lycos Holdings. Starling Trust. Mako Ltd."He read the names of the shell companies like a judge reading a verdict."The audit trail for Lycos is the thinnest. It is the most exposed. He will have the least time to move or hide it."He looked at me. The question was not in his words, but in his eyes. He was asking if I was ready.My husband’s hand was still in mine, warm and slack. He had woken up a stranger and handed me the sword. If I hesitated now, the man who did this to him won. The woman who manipulated my father won. My pathetic and
(Elara's POV)The clock on the wall didn’t tick.It bled.167:59:02.One hundred and sixty-seven hours.Peter had spoken those digits with a cold, technical reverence. He sounded like he was reading the remaining runtime on a battery. To him, it was a data point. To me, it was the sound of a coffin lid being nailed shut. One second at a time.I sat in that plastic chair until my body felt like it was made of glass.Every joint ached.My spine felt fused to the seat.I had been in this room so long that the smell of antiseptic and old coffee had become my new skin. It was a sour scent. It was a smell of waiting and decay. I was beyond tired. I was hollow. I was a ghost waiting for a body to wake up.A week.In a week, Marcus Thorne would find us.In a week, the empire Silas built would crumble into ash.I looked at the man in the bed.He looked so small under the white sheets.This was the man who moved mountains.This was the man w
(Elara's POV)The garage lights buzzed overhead as the car rolled in. Every pothole sent the hard drive thumping against my thigh through the canvas bag. I kept seeing Thorne’s mouth twist when he realized what I’d done. His eyes went flat and murderous. That black sedan sitting silent two spaces over hadn’t moved when we left. It didn’t need to. Message received.Mercer cut the engine. The sudden quiet pressed against my ears. My knuckles stayed white on the door pull. I couldn’t make myself let go yet.“He won’t wait past first light,” Mercer said.My tongue felt thick. “Yeah.”We skipped the elevator. The stairwell smelled like old mop water with something metallic underneath. My shoes slapped the concrete steps too loud. My pulse answered back in my throat. Halfway up I had to stop for a second. I put my hand on the rail and breathed through my mouth so I wouldn’t gag on the bleach.The hallway outside Silas’s room felt narrower t
(Elara's POV)The city outside the car window was a blur of meaningless light. The tote bag on the seat beside me felt like it was humming with a dangerous energy. Charles’s text was a command, but Silas’s handwriting was a compass needle. It did not point to the hospital. It pointed downtown."Mercer. Truman Capital. Now."His eyes, flat and observant, met mine in the rearview mirror. "That is not the destination I was given.""The destination you were given is a holding pattern," I said, my voice low. "I am holding half a blueprint. The other half is in his office. Suite A7X, 1142. That is the objective. So drive."A muscle ticked in his jaw. The car did not slow. It swung smoothly into the next turn, heading for the financial district.The garage of the Truman Capital building was quiet, just the dripping echo of concrete and the faint smell of exhaust. My heels clicked on the stained floor, a sound that felt both
(Elara's POV)The text on Peter’s phone wasn’t just a warning. It was a final sentence.Permanent quiet.Those two words cut through the last bit of hope. It meant Silas was to be erased, tonight, right in his hospital room. There would be no waiting.Charles didn’t even blink. He went perfectly still, like a rock forming in fast motion. “We are not running,” he said, his voice flat and absolute. “Running is for people who are guilty. We dig in. We turn this entire hospital wing into a fortress.” Then his eyes, sharp and cold, landed on me. “But a fortress under attack needs more than strong walls. It needs a weapon. Your husband sat with these people. He broke bread with them. A man like that… he would have taken notes. He would have kept secrets to protect himself. Find them.”I got it. My job had changed. I wasn’t just the grieving wife anymore. I was the one sent to pick through the wreckage of our life, looking for the weap







