The flight back was a silent, pressurized coffin. Kaelan sat motionless, staring at nothing, his face a carved mask of dread. Elara’s mind was a chaotic scroll of memories: Liam’s easy laugh, the warmth of his hand, the shattered look in his eyes the last time she saw him. Goodness doesn’t mean weakness. His words now felt like a prophecy.
Miranda met them at the private airfield, her usual composure frayed at the edges. “He’s in surgery. Traumatic brain injury. Multiple internal injuries. They’ve been working on him for hours.”
“What happened?” Kaelan’s voice was rough.
“The police say it was a single-car accident. He left a meeting with the Singapore consortium’s lawyers late. The road was wet. He lost control.” Miranda’s gaze flickered, a tell. “But his assistant said he seemed… agit
