The hospital lights were too bright. They burned through the fog in my mind, sharp and relentless, like truth itself refusing to stay hidden.
It had been thirty-six hours since the fire. Since the explosion. Since Adrian vanished.
The doctors said I had mild smoke inhalation and minor burns, but that wasn’t what hurt. The real pain came from not knowing whether he was alive. The police said no survivors were found in the debris — but I refused to believe that. Adrian was too stubborn, too careful. He had escaped worse.
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, staring at the small backup drive I had retrieved from the burning stage. It was blackened at the edges, but intact. I ran my fingers over it, wondering what secrets it still held.
A soft knock came at the door. I turned.
Daniel st
