Sterling looks over his shoulder at the chaos of the crime scene.
"I should have someone stay with you. For protection. We don't know if he has associates—"
"No," I hiss and pull away with a sharp, panicked jerk.
"No more police. No more guns. I just want to lock my door and sleep. Please, Detective. You have him. You don't need me anymore tonight."
He sighs, the pity I counted on finally winning out.
"Alright. I'll have one of my men drive you—"
"I have my car," I interrupt, clutching my keys so hard they bite into my palm.
"I just need to drive. I need to feel the air. Just... tell them to let me through the cordon."
Sterling hesitates, then nods to the officer at the door.
"Let the Doctor through. She's done enough for one night. Madeline, go home."
"Thank you," I whisper, looking down so he doesn't see the sudden, cold focus in my eyes.
I walk past the forensic teams, past the yellow tape, and into the cool night air. The police lights strobe against the brick walls of the hospital, blue and red. I don't look at the high-security van idling near the exit, the one where Deimos is sitting in the dark, thinking about my betrayal.
I get into my car and start the engine. I drive slowly, obeying every traffic light, watching my rearview mirror until the morgue is a distant speck.
I keep my eyes on the road, but my gaze flickers constantly to the rearview mirror. A pair of headlights has been behind me since I left the hospital perimeter. They don't switch lanes. They don't fall back. They maintain a precise distance.
My heart begins to hammer against my ribs. I accelerate, hoping to lose them in the winding streets near the river, but the car behind me matches my speed effortlessly. It is a sleek, black car.
Suddenly, the engine behind me roars. The black car swerves into the opposite lane, pulling alongside me. Before I can react, it cuts sharply across my path. I slam on the brakes, the tires screaming against the asphalt. I sit there, gasping for air, my hands trembling on the wheel. The street is deserted, illuminated only by a flickering orange streetlamp.
The driver’s door of the car opens.
A man steps out. He is older, dressed in a suit that costs more than my entire education, his silver hair groomed to perfection. He doesn't look like a criminal. He looks like a king. But as he walks toward my window, I see the eyes. The same piercing, cold, and analytical gaze I just saw on the floor of the morgue. The same man that surprised me in the vault that night.
It is Charles. The man who is the source of every nightmare I have lived through. I am paralyzed. I want to lock the doors, to put the car in reverse and fly away, but his presence is like a physical weight pinning me to the seat.
He reaches my window and taps on the glass with a heavy signet ring. I slowly roll it down, my breath hitching in my throat.
"Dr. Madeline," he says, his voice a rich, cultured baritone that sounds like velvet over gravel.
"You had a very busy evening. I believe you have something that belongs to me. Or rather, someone."
He leans down, peering into the car, his gaze falling directly on the silver key sitting in the center console.
"My son is a sentimental fool," Charles whispers, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips.
"He thinks that key leads to a rescue. But you and I know better, don't we?"
"She is my little girl," Charles continues, his tone shifting with practiced ease from menacing to almost paternal.
"My legacy. Deimos is many things. Efficient, cold, brilliant. But he is broken beyond repair.”
I stare at him, my mind spinning. Every instinct tells me to flee, but the desperation in my chest is louder. I am a doctor without a lab, a savior without a clue. And here is the man who built the imperium.
"You want to find her, Madeline," he says, his eyes boring into mine, reading the fracture in my soul.
"You know I have the resources the police lack. I can have her safe within the hour. No more games."
