Chapter 6: Shattered Reflections

The jet wheels kissed the runway of City T just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in molten gold and rust. The skyline rose like sharpened blades against the heavens, and the city pulsed with its usual rhythm cars honking, neon flashing, people moving with purpose.

But inside Zogo Walton's chest, a storm had already begun.

He sat in silence in the backseat of a black bulletproof car, fingers clenched on his lap, his custom-tailored suit still immaculate despite the long-haul flight. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, didn't leave the window as the vehicle glided through the streets of the city, he'd once called home.

Now it felt like a battlefield.

The car stopped directly in front of Walton Global, the towering headquarters of his global conglomerate. As he stepped out, the doors of the executive elevator opened automatically, and the world seemed to fall away with each floor he ascended. The hum of the building faded. Only his own heartbeat kept time.

The top floor office greeted him with silence and order. The soft scent of lavender and polished marble. The same view he always had, the whole city sprawled beneath him like a kingdom waiting for its ruler.

"Sir," Finn greeted, standing near the desk with a digital tablet in his hands. The assistant's voice was low, respectful, but shadowed with concern.

"Updates," he said simply, not looking at him as he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"While you were overseas, the European division stabilized. MOTO.Tec pulled their patent claim back after arbitration. But..." Finn hesitated, eyes scanning the data, "...the miracle doctor intel has resurfaced."

He didn't move. His reflection stared back from the glass.... stern, cold, unforgiving.

"She....or he....is in City T," Finn said. "That's what the underground says. But we still don't have a face, a name, or even a signature. Just... whispers."

He's gaze sharpened.

"And?" he asked.

Finn glanced down at his tablet. 

"And Miss Amara Musk has returned. She's back at the Musk estate."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through He's eyes. He didn't respond to that, just tapped his fingers once against the window.

"Keep someone on her," he said quietly.

Finn nodded. "Already done."

There was a pause. The tension in the room shifted.

"And your mother..." Finn's voice softened. "Dr. Gellion reached out twice. Her condition's worsening. The hospital needs your decision, sir. Whether to transfer her abroad for further trials... or terminate life support."

Silence.

His fists clenched at his sides.

He didn't move for several seconds. The city lights reflected like stars in his eyes, but his thoughts weren't here. 

They were in the past ten years old.

He remembered the smell of jasmine. His mother's perfume.

The heavy silence that fell after his father was assassinated.... his car reduced to twisted metal and fire on a forest road. Three days after, his mother had locked herself in her bedroom, claiming grief had consumed her.

But grief didn't explain what He saw that day.

He had returned early from the academy, walking through the long hallway lined with marble and oil paintings, when he passed her room.

The door was slightly ajar.

He saw her assistant standing beside the bed...back turned, whispering something into the air. Then, in a flash of metal, she injected something into his mother's IV.

Zogo's blood turned cold. He watched, frozen, horrified.

The assistant turned her head.

For a second, time stopped.

She smiled.

Cold. 

Vicious. 

That smile haunted his dreams for years.

By morning, his mother had fallen into a coma. No one could identify the poison. No antidote, no diagnosis, no answers.

Two months later, He had found her buried the woman six feet under without a trial. But it didn't bring his mother back.

He blinked back to the present, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"We're not giving up," he said.

Finn stood straighter. "Sir?"

"I'm looking for that doctor. No matter what it takes."

He turned from the window and strode to his desk, leaning on it with both hands.

"Get in touch with every broadcasting outlet in the city. Television. Radio. Social media. The underground forums. Everywhere."

Finn's brow furrowed. "What should the message say?"

His voice dropped to a razor's edge.

"Whoever can wake Lady Elira Walton from her coma... will receive ten million credits. In cash. Full anonymity. Full protection. No tracking. No questions. I want it to air by midnight."

Finn stared. "Sir, ten million..."

Zogo raised a hand, silencing him.

"If that doctor's out there, money will speak."

Finn nodded slowly. "I'll launch it. But there will be copycats. Scammers."

He's tone chilled. "They'll be dealt with. Quietly."

Finn gave a tight nod. "And... what if the doctor never shows?"

He turned to him, eyes unreadable.

"She...he will," he said.

And somehow, deep down, he knew it.

Hours later, City T lit up with one of the most unexpected messages of the decade.

Zogo Walton, CEO of Walton Global, is offering a reward of 10 million credits to the person capable of waking Lady Elira Walton from her ten-year coma.

No legal inquiries. No exposure. Immunity guaranteed.

Contact the secure encrypted line below.

Verified and endorsed by Walton Global."

The city buzzed with the news.

Some called it madness.

Some call it desperation.

But in a dark corner of the city, far from elite states and luxury rooms, a figure sat in silence. 

Hooded.

Hidden.

Her eyes stared at the glowing screen. A familiar name. A familiar face.

Her fingers hovered above a medical diagram.

The city didn’t sleep.

T City’s skyline glittered like fractured glass, towering high and cold. The lights inside Zogo Walton’s penthouse private residence were dimmed to a low glow, casting moody shadows over the black marble floors and sleek leather furniture that lined the room in perfect, soulless symmetry.

Zogo stood still…silent as stone his tailored shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms. In one hand, he held a crystal tumbler of untouched scotch. The amber liquid shimmered under the moonlight, but it might as well have been poison. He didn’t drink it.

He simply watched.

Watching the glowing monitor Finn had left behind hours ago, still blinking softly in the quiet.

An anonymous message filled the screen, as if left there like a footprint…deliberate, mocking, intimate.

"Your voice is loud, Walton."

"Too loud for someone searching in the dark."

"She's watching."

No signature. No metadata. No trace.

Just silence after the storm.

For a long time, Zogo didn’t move.

Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted not with humor, not with joy.

But with hunger.

A hunter’s smile. Cold. Calculated. Inevitable.

He set the glass down without a sound.

“Then come find me,” he murmured into the dark.

The Next Morning – Walton Tower, Operations Wing

Daylight did little to soften the pulse of the empire.

The operations wing of Walton Global thrummed with tension. Monitors stretched across the walls, showing live data feeds, surveillance maps, encrypted messages, and a digital flood of intel pouring in like a tidal wave.

Finn’s fingers flew over the controls, sweat glinting at his temple despite the freezing temperature in the room.

“We’ve got thousands of leads pouring in since the announcement,” he said. “Mostly frauds and fanatics but a few with real credentials. Ex-military, outlawed neurochemists, vanished field medics.”

Zogo didn’t look up.

He sat at the head of the command desk, scanning a thin file folder that seemed too light for how heavy it felt in his hands.

The top page read…

Lady Elira Walton

Coma: Day 3,651

Diagnosis: Synthetic neurotoxin – compound unknown

Antidotes: All failed

His mother.

Still lost.

Still slipping.

Still unreachable.

The last piece of his humanity lay unconscious in a white room and time was running out.

“Flag anyone who’s bought black market compounds in the last seventy-two hours,” Zogo said quietly.

 “Especially rare nerve agents, untested stimulants, and prototype reversals. Someone’s getting ready for something. I want to know who.”

Finn hesitated. “You think… he or she’s already here?”

Zogo looked up slowly. Eyes sharp. Voice low.

“I don’t think,” he said. “I know.”

That Night At  Walton Medical Wing

The private floor of the Walton Medical Pavilion wasn’t just exclusive, it was sacred.

No nurses bustled here. No visitors roamed. Only whispers moved through the sterilized halls whispers and ghosts.

Zogo stepped inside his mother’s room like a man entering a chapel.

The lights were soft, casting a faint halo around the pristine bed. Machines beeped steadily. Oxygen hissed gently. The IV line dripped like a silent metronome marking time she didn’t feel.

She looked like she was sleeping.

Her face still soft. Still beautiful. Still untouched by the chaos outside this room.

But unmoving.

Unchanged.

Unresponsive.

Zogo crossed the room, every step echoing in the silence, and sat beside her. He reached for her hand. Cold. Fragile.

“I told you I’d fix this,” he whispered.

His voice cracked.

“And I will, even if I have to burn this city to the ground.”

The room didn’t answer.

Neither did she.

But somewhere beyond the shimmering skyline, beneath neon signs and rotting secrets, something shifted.

A flicker in the dark.

A whisper in the storm.

She was already watching.

Already listening.

Already here.

The miracle they needed wasn’t a myth.

She had a name no one knew, and a past buried too deep.

But one thing was certain.

The fool they overlooked was about to become the cure they feared.