Elira sat in the dim hospital room, hands trembling, blood still staining her shirt. The scent of antiseptic clashed with the scent of fear hanging in the air.
Amari was asleep on the cot beside her, hooked to an IV, but safe.
Safe.
But different.
He hadn’t spoken since they found him.
Soren stood across from her, bruised, silent, jaw clenched so hard she thought it might crack. His white shirt was torn, covered in soot and dust from the abandoned warehouse where they’d found their son.
Zan had vanished, leaving only destruction and a single clue: a USB drive left in Amari’s hand.
The silence between them stretched like glass.
Then Elira whispered, “You shouldn’t have come for us.”
Soren looked up, eyes tired. “I’ll always come for you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t get to say
