DAMON...
Night still covered the eleventh floor of Voss Tower.
The city below was glowing, alive, and loud, but up here everything was silent. Damon sat in his office, lights low, glass walls reflecting the skyline like broken mirrors.
The video from earlier—the one showing Jenna's outburst—was gone from the internet. He had already erased it from every site and social feed. But even after deleting it, the noise of it stayed in his head.
Luke knocked once before walking in.
"Sir," he said carefully, "I found something."
Damon didn't look away from the window. "What is it?" Luke placed a folder on the desk. "A closed branch under the old Voss Technologies network. It's called Serpent Tech Chicago. It shut down in 2010."
That year made Damon stop. "2010," he repeated quietly. "Show me the files."
Luke turned the tablet toward him. "No employees listed. Only financial transfers under your father's name. Then it stopped—the same month as the Chicago incident."
Damon's hand tightened around the edge of the desk. "Who else knows about this?"
"No one, sir. It was hidden deep in the archives."
"Keep it that way. Don't mention this to anyone in editorial."
Luke hesitated. "Does this have anything to do with Ms. Quin?"
Damon turned finally, his face unreadable. "It has to do with what she might find before I do." Luke nodded once and quietly left.
Damon poured himself a drink. The clink of glass sounded too loud in the quiet room. His hand wasn't as steady as usual.
Serpent Tech Chicago.
His father's name was all over the papers. And 2010—the same year Elara Quin's parents were murdered. That couldn't be a coincidence. He stared at the folder. Every page was neat, printed, soulless—exactly how his father liked things.
He'd spent his whole life managing risk, fixing other people's chaos. But Elara Quin was something else. Her curiosity was slow, quiet, and dangerous. It was breaking down his walls one question at a time.
Control wasn't peace. It was fear in disguise.
ELARA...
Elara finally used her short leave.
She told Mrs Irene she needed rest, but really she wanted a few quiet days with Jamie before his finals.
The last few weeks had been too loud — the office gossip, the stares after Jenna's scene, the endless noise of Los Angeles traffic. Silence felt like something she had to earn.
That morning Jamie was bright and talkative, teasing her while they made breakfast.
"You work too much," he said around a spoonful of cereal.
"You talk too much," she answered, smiling for the first time in days.
They spent half the morning on errands and laughing over burnt toast.
For a moment, the world felt normal.
By noon the heat outside was heavy, and Jamie started looking pale.
"Just tired," he said, but his hands shook when he tried to drink water. Within an hour he was sweating and dizzy.
The laughter from breakfast disappeared; Elara grabbed her bag and hailed a cab to the nearest hospital.
The waiting room was packed — fluorescent lights, crying children, nurses rushing by. Jamie leaned against her shoulder, burning with fever.
She kept her voice calm while signing the admission form, but her heart thudded like it wanted to escape.
Every beep of a monitor reminded her of another night long ago — a dark house, gunshots, and her eight-year-old self holding her brother's face, whispering not to look.
The doctor finally came out.
"He needs tests and probably an overnight stay," he said. "We'll run labs, but you should prepare for extra costs."
Elara nodded, hiding the worry in her eyes.
Money wasn't the problem; pride was.
She'd fought too hard to stand on her own.
She wouldn't call anyone from work, least of all Damon Voss.
She stayed beside Jamie's bed until he slept, stroking his hair the way she used to when he was small.
The monitor beeped softly, steady and fragile.
Outside, thunder rolled again — the same storm that had followed her boss the night before.
By morning the fever had climbed again.
Elara hadn't slept. She sat in the plastic chair beside Jamie's bed, head in her hands, counting the rhythm of the monitor instead of praying.
When the doctor mentioned a specialist, she only asked, "How soon?"
He answered, "Today, if we can move him to a private ward."
She glanced at the form; the cost made her throat tighten.
Her phone buzzed on the metal table—Stella.
> Stella: "You didn't answer any calls. Are you okay?"
Elara: "Jamie's sick. Fever. They want tests."
Stella: "Send me the hospital name. I'm coming."
Elara wanted to say don't, but the line had already gone dead.
Twenty minutes later Stella appeared, eyes red from worry, hair half-tied.
"I called Alex," she admitted. "He knows people here. He said he'd help."
Before Elara could argue, a new team of nurses arrived, rolling in equipment and new forms already signed.
Within the hour Jamie was moved to a quieter room with better machines and a specialist waiting.
Elara stepped into the hallway and caught the head nurse.
"Who authorized the transfer?"
"Company insurance, ma'am," the nurse said, checking her chart. "All cleared by Mr Voss's office."
Her pulse jumped. Of course it was him.
She called the number before she could stop herself.
Damon answered on the first ring.
"Ms Quin."
"You had no right," she said, trying to keep her voice even.
"You didn't ask for help," he replied.
"I didn't need it."
"You did." A pause. "And I don't wait for permission."
"You can't just—"
"I already did."
Silence stretched between them; only the hospital intercom filled the space.
Then he said quietly, "He'll be fine, Elara."
Her breath caught at the sound of her name, soft for once.
"I don't owe you anything," she whispered.
"I know," he said, and ended the call.
Sometimes the kindest thing a monster can do is care.
That night she sat by Jamie's bed, watching the machines blink green.
"I don't owe anyone," she murmured, though her chest ached when she said it.
Across the city, on the top floor of Voss Tower, Damon watched the rain slide down the glass.
The file labeled Serpent Tech – Chicago 2010 lay open on his desk.
His father's name glared back at him.
He whispered to the empty room,
"You might, Elara Quin."
Outside, the storm broke over Los Angeles, lightning cutting through the skyline—two lives on opposite sides of the same night, both trying not to drown in it.