Chapter 18 : ¿Cómo te llamas?

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CELESTIAL HEIGHT HOTEL.

Antonio’s Penthouse Office – Night

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{Enchanted Hills}

A heavy storm brewed over the city—Lightning cracked in the distance, and for a moment, it looked like the sky wanted to confess something.

Without another warning, rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Antonio’s high-rise office.

Lightning flashed again—this time illuminating Antonio's silhouette against the night skyline.

He stood facing the city, one hand tucked in his trouser pocket, the other swirling a half-empty dark liquor in a crystal glass—like an old habit.

Behind him, the door clicked open. Grinch entered quietly, instinctively cautious of the suicidal atmosphere.

He hesitated just inside the threshold, removing his soaked overcoat.

“You think Breanna’s got a backup plan for catching you?” he asked, watching Antonio with a sideways glance.

“Or is she just playing desperate out of revenge?”

Blade Knuckles cracked his neck with a slow twist.

No flicker of emotion crossed his face. His eyes were cold. Calculating and deadly.

“She doesn’t have a plan, Grinch" Antonio said, his voice like gravel soaked in velvet "Rather a countdown—I just want her confidence. Overconfidence.”

"I doubt that", Grinch shifted, approaching Antonio. "She’s smarter than we thought—quite the hunter" .

Antonio let out a dry chuckle—humorless, hollow, and yet he didn’t move.

He briefly watched a police siren blink through the fog like a dying heartbeat.

"Smart?" he repeated quietly.

He raised the glass to his lips, gulping down the whole content.

“But smart people tend to make the loudest mistakes—moreover, no one gets close unless I allow it,” he added, finally turning.

His eyes were ice—still, unforgiving enough to skin a soul. He walked to the bar cart and topped off his drink without spilling a drop.

“Let me tell you something about people like Breanna,” he said, voice low.

“They build traps out of desperation… hoping I’ll blink. But I don’t blink, Grinch. I strike.” He set the glass down with a soft clink.

Next, he drew a cigar from his coat pocket, tapped it against the steel panel beside him, before lighting it.

“So... what now?” Grinch asked in a gravelly tone.

Antonio smirked, eyes flicking to Grinch. “Now?” he echoed.

“Now we let her dance a little longer—Let her play her little games"

“Why?” Grinch asked, voice low but edged with curiosity. "She definitely has plans up her sleeves"

Antonio crushed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray,

“Palooka! That’s the difference between hunters and ghosts, Grinch—hunters chase, therefore making the worst mistakes when they think they've won—But ghosts? Ghosts erase.”

Picking up his glass, He circled to his desk, where a file lay open—a photograph of John paper-clipped to a set of blueprints.

“If she has a plan B,” he continued, almost amused, “then I’m already her plan C, D, and E. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Grinch leaned against a pillar, arms crossed "Tell me you’re not planning to bury her next.”

“I’ve killed better detectives than her,” Antonio muttered, looking up with a quiet promise in his voice. "Adding her to the list won't be a harm"

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes locked on Grinch. “If she plays clever, then I’ll bury her plan with her".

"Blade, you can't just go against your—"

A bolt of thunder crackled through the room, silencing Grinch.

Antonio turned back toward the glass, raising his drink to the skyline like a silent toast.

"To the fall of queens!”

Meanwhile, at the same time, in the heart of the city.

The stormy night swallowed Breanna's footsteps as she approached what was left of the headquarters.

Yellow tapes, No lights. No movement. Just ruin and the sound of rain splashing on the walls.

She stopped at the entrance—what used to be the entrance.

For a long moment she didn't move, neither did she curse or scream—she just stared at what used to be their coordination tower.

Everything was gone—The once-bustling structure was now a graveyard of ashes

Slowly she moved, not out of fear, but reverence—for what was lost.

Getting to her floor, she ducked under a charred beam and stepped into the heart of the wreckage.

Her office—the evidence room was gone, along with it were the hard-earned evidence she had collected against Blade Knuckle—incinerated.

Every last shred of proof tying Blade Knuckle to Antonio’s network had been wiped clean, methodically.

Breanna's throat tightened. Not from the smoke—but the fury rising up from her gut.

The last four years of her career has been reduced to soot and molten metal.

Slowly her lips curled into a cold, humorless smile.

“Motherf*cker,” she spat. “You want to play dirty, but fire doesn't erase truth—It just scorches the surface.”

Frustrated, she kicked a half-melted filing cabinet across the room, with a guttural scream.

It clanged into the wall and collapsed, but it didn’t make her feel better. Nothing would. Not until she see's Antonio on his knees, bleeding from somewhere that mattered.

Her eyes swept over the charred HQ one last time. Then she pulled out her phone and opened her contact, dialing a number.

"I need another sketch, schedule it". Her breath hitched, but she didn’t cry.

If Antonio was confident enough to burn the evidence, then she's crazy enough to rebuild everything.

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2 days later , MAVERICK HOSPITAL

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Nevena’s footsteps echoed softly as she made her way down the ward corridor.

Her IV drip finally gone, so was the ache in her lungs.

Inhaling the faint scent of antiseptic, she hugged her arms around her oversized hospital gown, and chuckled—She had lost a few pounds.

Though her body was no longer down with pain, her mind buzzed with restless questions.

Mr Hunts. Again, he'd save her and vanished.

Nevena ran her hand through her hair. It was just maddening how he appears like some phantom guardian, just when everything teetered on the edge.

Then leaving behind his familiar echo of safety, he disappears before she could even mutter a breath of gratitude.

"Antonio Hunt," Nevena whispered to the empty corridor. "You're a ghost, aren't you—or perhaps, my guardian angel?"

She giggled with her eyes shut, savouring the silence and that lingering feeling of being... watched over.

"Ouch!" Her wince tore out, as she hit her head against a suspended vase.

With a curious smirk , her eyes scanned the corridor absently, as if he might just lean out of the shadows, with that hard facial exterior and guarded eyes—but she got nothing.

"Snap out of it girl—it's definitely a coincidence." She shook her head, brushing thoughts of him away.

She reached the end of the hallway, where the ward opened up to a small lounge with vending machines

Her eyes caught movement—a boy, maybe six or seven, with wild curls and sharp curious eyes, seated in a wheelchair, his leg in a cast plastered with colorful drawings.

From where she was standing, she saw that he was struggling with a backpack, nearly as big as he was.

He tried to yank the zipper shut with one hand while balancing a crumpled paper cup in the other.

“Such a cutie,” she said in more of a whisper, stepping closer.

“Need a hand?” she offered gently.

The boy quit his fumbling and looked up—a scowl on his lip.

“I never asked for it.”

Nevena blinked, then slowly crouched beside him, with a nod.

“I get it."

Junior looked at her again, his eyes rimmed with shadows too heavy for a child. “No you don't—people always want to help when they’re bored. Then they leave.”

Nevena studied him. “I’m not bored, and sometimes, people offer help just because they want to. No strings.”

“I don’t trust people like that,” he rolled his eyes suspiciously. He tried again to zip the bag, but it only jammed harder.

"Give me a try then" She reached out, not touching his bag just yet. “May I?”

He hesitated, his expression guarded, but he didn't argue further.

With careful fingers, Nevena reached over, she worked the zipper free from the snagged fabric and slid it closed.

“There. Bag’s safe. No ambush.”

He looked away again. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll leave anyway.”

Nevena sighed heavily, without another word she leaned back against the wall, understanding the art of quiet presence.

They stayed like that for a while, quiet in the echoing corridor. Two broken shapes holding still beside each other.

Junior just stared at the scuffed linoleum floor. Then, suddenly he asked .

“Why’d you help me?”

Nevena turned toward him. “Because you looked like you could use it. And maybe because I know what it’s like to be alone in a hallway.”

He looked at her again. This time, less suspicious. Less bristled. Just... curious.

“I’m Nevena, from Bulgaria” she offered after a moment.

¿Cómo te llamas?{What is your name}, she stuttered, damaging the Spanish language.

Junior's lips twitched, almost a smile—but it vanished too fast. “Junior.”

“Junior,” she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue like she was testing its weight. “Cool name.”

Junior shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just what they call me because I don’t have my own name.”

Nevena stilled, her chest tightening. “Someone gave it to you. Someone who must have hoped you'd grow into something good.”

“No,” he muttered. “She just didn’t want to think too hard.”

Nevena didn’t flinch. “Ah! That sucks.”

Junior looked at her sharply, as if surprised she didn’t correct him or sugarcoat it.

“You work here or something?” he asked, eyeing her wristband.

“Nope. Patient. About to be released.” Nevena sat beside him on the edge of the bench, keeping a respectful distance from his wheelchair.

“Oh.”

His tone softened a bit. “Me too, Mama said she’d be back, but—she always says that.”

Nevena’s chest ached in that familiar way—the way it did when she saw herself in someone else’s shadow.

She reached for the juice box and helped him push the straw through.

“Maybe she got held up, or something important came up.”

“She always says that too,” he sulked. “I think she forgets me on purpose,” he added, eyes on the floor.

Nevena glanced at him, something sharp tugging in her chest.

“I’m sure she tries. Some people just don’t know how to show up right."

“But Ma'am, I was thinking , maybe if I could be really, really good,” Junior said suddenly, his voice low and broken, “she’d stop forgetting me. Right?”

“Fair enough.” Nevena gave a small, sad chuckle.

“I like your cast, anyway” she switched the tension, nodding toward the scribbles. “Who did the artwork?”

Junior perked up a little. “I did. This one’s a dragon. See the teeth?”

Nevena leaned in slightly, squinting. “A fire breathing dragon. I love it.”

He pushed out a real smile, “Can you draw?” he asked.

“Stick figures and crooked stars. But I’m a fast learner.”She replied with a shrug.

Unhesitatingly, Junior dug in his backpack, pulling out a marker, and handing it to her like a silent invitation.

Nevena held it delicately, then glanced at him. “Mind if I sign the dragon’s wing?”

Junior nodded with approval.

Seeing that as a yes, she grinned and carefully wrote, in small, slanted letters, 'Miss Nevena'.

When she handed the marker back, he grinned.

"Miss Bachvarov!", A nurse interrupted.

"Yes" Nevena blinked, completely caught off guard.

"You're being summoned by the Doctor— your discharge paper is all done."

She didn’t press. “Alright—I will be there.”

Junior glanced at her, brows fraying in disappointment.

"You're leaving?" He asked in a cracked tone

“Yes,” she smiled faintly, standing slowly. “So are you.”

“No—I tend to hang around a bit longer than I should.” Junior mumbled, his eyes dulling with unshed tears.

He reached for a small cup of orange juice on the floor beside him, still sealed.

"Nice meeting you—Miss Nevena"

Nevena stared at it. Slowly, she took it.

“Thanks,” she acknowledged, barely above a whisper. "And nice meeting you too"

"Bye" Junior sniffed quietly, he wiped his face on the sleeve of his hoodie as Nevena's back disappeared from sight.