At Thorne Tower office, Arthur Thorne sat behind his desk with a cup by his side as he read through a stack of unread files. A coverage of that late night accident on the highway involving Leo was being broadcast on the television opposite him. With his head down focusing on the work before him he didn't spare himself the time to look up.
A knock came through and Arthur gave the person permission to enter. His assistant, Marcus, stepped inside, holding a thin file and something wrapped in a clear evidence bag. His face was pale, drained of color in a way Arthur noticed immediately.
"Sir," Marcus began, then stopped. His throat worked as he tried again. "There's been an accident."
Arthur's pen paused above the paper. "What kind of accident?"
Marcus swallowed. "It's about your son. Leo."
Arthur leaned back slowly in the chair, "Go on."
Marcus placed the file on the desk as though it weighed too much. "The police contacted our office this morning. There was a crash on the coastal highway last night near East Dock. The vehicle was registered to your son. They took him to St. Helena Medical Center, but he…" His voice broke for a fraction of a second. "…he didn't make it, sir."
Arthur snapped the pen in his hand into half. Ink bled across his fingers.
For a moment, he said nothing. The light from the window reflected on his face. His gaze did not waver, "Where is he now?" he asked quietly.
"The hospital still has his body. They will wait for your instruction." Marcus hesitated, then carefully set the evidence bag beside the file. "These were his belongings. They were released along with the report."
Arthur's eyes flicked down. Inside the bag were car keys, a phone with spiderweb crack across the screen, a slim wallet, a laptop and a small silver flash drive.
"Thank you, Marcus," Arthur said, his voice even.
"Sir, if there's anything—"
"That will be all."
Marcus nodded quickly and left, the door closing softly behind him.
Arthur sat in silence and after a while he turned the evidence bag slowly in his hands. The flash drive caught the light. It was small and insignificant, yet it drew his attention like a thread of gravity. He remembered Leo at sixteen, a very curious and stubborn teenage boy. He would stay up all night working on some project he refused to explain. Arthur had admired that focus, even if he had never said it aloud.
Now, staring at the drive, his son was no more. A sharp pain pierced through his chest, spreading slowly toward his head. He pressed his fingers against his temple.
The television in the corner shifted to a replay of the morning news. A familiar anchor's voice drifted through the quiet. "—identified through personal documents as Leo Thorne, age thirty-one…"
Arthur looked up sharply, reaching for the remote to increase the volume of the broadcast. For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do next. He turned away from the screen, his jaw tight. His eyes burned, but no tears came. He walked to the window and looked out over the waking city.
***************
Back in Aldridge
The clock on Cierra's phone glowed 10:14 a.m. The lecture had ended twenty minutes ago, but she was still sitting there, half-slouched in her chair with her earbuds in her ears. Students drifted past in loose clusters. Laughter echoed down the bright corridor of Aldridge University's east wing.
Outside, the air still carried the scent of rain. Drops clung to the windows, tracing slow-moving paths down the glass. Cierra didn't feel like joining the noise outside. She wanted quiet so she stayed put jotting some things in her journal app. She exhaled softly and tied her black hair in a bun. The day felt hollow in a way she couldn't name. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Maybe it was the storm last night keeping her awake, the thunder rolling over the dorm roofs like warning drums.
Her phone buzzed and she saw a notification from a news app she barely remembered installing. She almost swiped it away without reading, but the headline caught her eye.
BREAKING NEWS: BUSINESS HEIR LEO THORNE CONFIRMED DEAD AFTER HIGHWAY CRASH
Her mind didn't process the words at first. She blinked. Read them again. The letters blurred. She tapped the notification bar.
The article opened with a photo—his photo. Leo's face stared back at her from the screen. She caught her breath.
The noise of the hallway faded, swallowed by the rush of her pulse. She read the first paragraph once, twice, three times, searching for some mistake. Maybe a namesake. Maybe a different Thorne. But no. The article mentioned St. Helena Medical Center. Coastal Highway. Fatal collision. There was no room left for misunderstanding. Her trembling hand went to her mouth.
"No!" she screamed.
Two students walking past glanced her way, puzzled, but she didn't notice. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen. The image seemed to stare back—too still, too official to be real. Her elder brother was dead.
Her mind flashed to the last time she had heard from him. It hadn't even been that long ago.
"Be careful what you trust, Cierra. Not everyone's who they say they are." He had told her.
She had rolled her eyes at it then, like she always did when he spoke in riddles. It was so typically him—half-guarded, half-protective. She never replied.
Now her fingers hovered over the chat window with her heart pounding. The little gray bubble beside his name stared back—"last seen yesterday, 11:38 p.m."
Her throat tightened.
She pressed the phone against her thighs, trying to breathe.
Outside, laughter drifted up from the courtyard. A group of students tossed paper cups into a bin, arguing playfully about lunch. The sound felt alien, too bright against the weight in her chest.
Cierra stood, her movements shaky. The phone trembled in her hand. She needed air.
She stepped into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind her. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Everything looked painfully normal—posters, bulletin boards and the distant hum of vending machines. But inside her, the world had tilted.
At the far end of the corridor, a television mounted to the wall was tuned to the morning news. She stopped without meaning to.
Leo's photo was on the screen again. The anchor's voice carried softly through the low volume "…identification confirmed through personal belongings found at the scene…"
Her chest constricted. She reached up, pulled one earbud out slowly.
The sound of last night's rain replayed in her mind—the rhythm against the dorm window, the flash of lightning when she couldn't sleep. Maybe that was when it happened. Maybe, at the very moment she turned over in bed and cursed the storm, his car had been spinning off the highway.
A sharp pain pressed behind her eyes. She blinked hard, lowering her gaze. Her phone buzzed again. Messages flooded in now.
Did you see?
Cierra, are you okay?
It's all over the news.
She couldn't answer any of them. Her thumb hovered above the keyboard, then fell still.
Instead, she turned off the phone. The screen went black, leaving only her faint reflection staring back.
Cierra drew in a breath and pressed her palm to the cool surface of the wall beside her. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and rain.
She wanted to cry, but nothing came. She stood there until the hallway emptied again, until the television switched to another story and his face disappeared from the screen. Only then did she whisper, barely audible:
"Why, Leo…?" Her voice cracked on the name.
***************
The rain had stopped sometime after dawn, leaving the air heavy and still.
Elara woke to a pale wash of light slipping through the blinds, her head thick with the remnants of sleep. The clock on her nightstand blinked 9:47 a.m. She groaned softly, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple.
She had planned to get up early. She always did. But the storm last night had rattled her windows and kept her tossing until nearly three. And lately, her body hadn't been cooperating—the fatigue, the dull ache behind her eyes, the occasional cough she dismissed as post treatment. Recovery, she told herself again. Just recovery. Nothing more.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting for a long moment before standing. Her apartment felt cold. She moved slowly, pulling the curtains aside. The city beyond looked muted, washed out under the gray light. Cars crawled along the wet streets. Somewhere, a siren wailed faintly, then faded.
Elara filled the kettle with water. She was supposed to be at the office by ten. Her team members were capable of handling the office in her absence, but she couldn't afford to stay away from the office longer than two days. "Take your time," her PA had said. "You've been through a lot."
The kettle clicked on. Steam began to rise, curling against the dim kitchen light. She leaned on the counter, absently scrolling through her phone. When the water was hot enough, she poured it into a mug, watching it swirl around the tea bag until the color deepened to amber. She took a sip, wincing at the heat, and set it down again.
The television in the living room was still on from last night, the sound muted. She reached for the remote, intending to turn it off, but something made her pause. Movement on the screen — a familiar shape, a flash of silver lettering. She turned the volume up.
"…identified through personal belongings found at the scene…"
Her stomach tightened.
The camera angle shifted — a photo appeared in the corner of the broadcast. A man's face.
His face.
Leo.
Elara froze, one hand still on the remote.
For a second, her mind refused to name what she was seeing.
"Authorities have confirmed the death of businessman Leo Thorne, thirty-one, following a fatal collision on the coastal highway late last night…"
The voice of the anchor moved on, calm and steady, but the world around Elara seemed to fall away.
The edges of the room blurred. The hum of the refrigerator, the hiss of the kettle, even the faint patter of leftover rain against the sill — everything grew distant.
Her throat felt dry.
She took a step toward the screen. The photograph lingered — the faint half-smile, the kind eyes that never quite hid how guarded he was.
"No…"
It wasn't even a whisper, more an exhale.
She blinked to be sure it was real.
The anchor went on, detailing the timeline, the location, the hospital — all of it factual, orderly and unyielding.
Words like fatal and confirmed filled the air, and still she couldn't move.
The mug on the counter waited, untouched. The tea was growing cold. She reached for it out of instinct, needing something to do with her hands.
Her fingers brushed the handle.
The television showed footage now. For a moment, it looked like something out of memory. Like one of those late-night drives when Leo would insist on taking the long way, windows down, music soft. He had told her once that the world always looked truer after rain.
Elara's grip on the mug faltered. She saw the wreckage. The flashing lights reflected on wet asphalt.
Something inside her went still — too still.
It wasn't disbelief exactly, but a kind of quiet emptiness that expanded until it filled her chest.
She didn't cry. Not yet. She only stared at the screen until the edges of her vision began to blur.
Then, without meaning to, she whispered, "You promised…"
The mug slipped from her fingers.
It fell in a slow, perfect arc — time stretching — and struck the floor with a sharp, splintering crash.
Tea spread across the tiles, golden and thin, the sound echoing too loudly in the small kitchen.
The broken pieces glittered faintly where the morning light caught them. Elara didn't move. She just stood there, breathing quietly, her reflection trembling in the window's glass.