The world returned to Elara Hayes in pieces.
Light first.
Blinding, stabbing light that sliced through her eyelids like a blade.
Then sound—soft beeping, the hiss of oxygen, distant footsteps echoing down a sterile hallway.
Her body felt heavy, as if gravity had doubled its hold on her.
Her throat burned.
Her ribs ached.
Her skin carried the sting of smoke and the bitterness of fire.
When she finally managed to force her eyes open, everything was unfamiliar. White walls. Pale curtains. A ceiling with a flickering fluorescent bulb. The faint smell of antiseptic.
A hospital.
She blinked slowly, trying to make sense of it.
Why was she here?
What happened?
The last thing she remembered was—
She sucked in a sharp breath.
Fire.
Smoke.
Running.
A voice yelling.
A heat so intense it felt like hell opening beneath her feet.
Her pulse spiked. Monitors beeped loudly beside her as panic clawed through her chest.
A nurse rushed in, startled. "Whoa, whoa—it's okay. Easy, sweetheart. You're safe."
Elara shook her head weakly, her voice raw.
"No. I—I'm not. Something happened. Something… horrible."
The nurse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You're in Westhaven General Hospital. You were found unconscious near the Blackwood property early this morning. Do you remember anything?"
Elara's breath trembled. Blackwood.
Her blood went cold.
She remembered the house engulfed in flames. She remembered shouting for help, trying to get inside, coughing until her body collapsed. She remembered seeing shadows—someone running away.
But she didn't know who.
She didn't know why.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I tried…" she whispered hoarsely. "I tried to help."
Her body felt foreign, bruised, wrapped in bandages. Her hair smelled like smoke. Her hands were scraped, palms burned—like she'd clawed at something.
The nurse adjusted the oxygen line and checked her vitals. "Your lungs inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke. You're lucky to be alive."
Elara didn't feel lucky.
She felt cursed.
"What about the family?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
The nurse paused.
Then she looked away.
Elara's heart sank.
"No…" she whispered. "Please tell me they made it out."
The nurse didn't speak—her silence said everything.
Elara covered her face as tears broke freely. Her shoulders shook.
She didn't know the Blackwood family personally. All she had was an address—given to her by a client who insisted the job had to be done today. It was early, barely sunrise, but she didn't mind; she preferred working before the world fully woke.
She took a cab to the Blackwood mansion, rehearsing the details in her head. She'd been hired to restore an old oil painting belonging to the family—something rare, expensive, and apparently important enough that they wanted a professional to handle it discreetly. She thought it was just another routine art restoration gig…
She had no idea she was walking straight into the ruins of a tragedy.
And now… that family was nomore all because of the fire.
The same fire she barely escaped.
The nurse, trying to soften the moment, added, "The authorities will want to speak with you when you're strong enough. You were found to the incident site."
Elara tensed.
"I didn't do anything," she said quickly, her voice cracking. "I tried to warn someone. I swear I— I shouted."
The nurse gently hushed her. "Honey, calm down. No one's accusing you."
But they would.
She knew it.
People always needed someone to blame
Hours passed. Or minutes. Time blurred.
Elara drifted between consciousness and the edges of nightmares—flashes of orange flames, screams, a silhouette standing across the street watching the house burn.
But every time she tried to push deeper into her memory, her head throbbed violently, and the details slipped away like sand through her fingers.
She hated that most.
The emptiness.
The missing pieces.
The possibility that someone had set her up.
The door opened gently, pulling her from the fog.
A doctor stepped inside, clipboard in hand, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He looked like he had seen too many tragedies, and tonight was just another.
"Miss Hayes," he said calmly. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I swallowed fire," she croaked.
"That's smoke inhalation," he explained. "Your throat and lungs are irritated. You're dehydrated. You have mild burns on your arms, one cracked rib, and some bruising along your side."
Elara swallowed.
"What happened to me?"
"That's what we'd like to know," the doctor replied. "The paramedics found you unconscious outside the burned property. You had no ID on you. They only discovered your name once you began mumbling it in your sleep."
She frowned. "I didn't have my bag with me?"
"No. Nothing was found except you."
Fear coiled in her stomach.
Something wasn't right. She never left her bag behind. Someone must've taken it.
Why?
To make her look suspicious?
To hide something?
Her pulse accelerated again.
The doctor gave her a moment before continuing. "The fire marshal has questions for you. And… someone else has already notified the police."
Elara's heart dropped.
"About me?"
"Yes."
"Why?" she whispered.
The doctor hesitated. "Your name appeared in the early investigation notes. Apparently you reported something unusual near the property a few hours before the fire."
Elara's breath hitched. Memories flickered.
A hushed conversation.
A shadow moving behind the fence.
A sinking feeling she couldn't shake.
"I didn't know it would be this," she whispered.
The doctor nodded sympathetically. "I believe you. But others might not. So you need to rest. You need strength for what's coming."
What's coming.
The words chilled her.
Night fell outside. The hospital quieted. Nurses whispered in hallways. Machines hummed with dull monotony.
Elara lay staring at the ceiling, heart racing with every footstep she heard outside her room. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like prey waiting for a hunter.
Her thoughts kept returning to the Blackwood family. The flames. The voice—someone yelling orders. Someone dragging something heavy.
And then—
Boots.
Heavy footsteps stopped outside her door.
Her pulse skipped.
The door handle turned slowly.
A man stepped inside, half-shadowed by the dim hallway light. Tall. Broad shoulders. A presence that demanded attention.
Elara's breath caught in her throat.
"W–who are you?" she asked, clutching the blanket.
The man didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer, eyes scanning her face, her injuries, the machines around her.
Then he spoke, voice low.
"I'm Detective Harrisj. The fire investigation assigned me."
Elara let out a shaky breath.
But something in his stare made her uneasy—too sharp, too focused. Like he was already piecing together a puzzle and she was the missing piece he didn't trust.
"I have some questions," he said, pulling out a notepad.
She nodded nervously. "I'll answer whatever I can."
"Good," he replied coolly. "Because right now… you are the only surviving person from that property. And the only witness."
Elara's fingers tightened around the bedsheet.
"I didn't do it," she whispered. "I didn't hurt them."
Detective Harris watched her closely, unreadable.
"We'll see."
She flinched.
"I reported suspicious activity," she said quickly. "I told someone! Someone was near their house. Someone was watching it."
"Who?"
"I—I don't know," she admitted. Shame flooded her chest. "It was at dawn, didn't see their face."
"Convenient," he murmured.
Her eyes widened. "You think I'm lying?"
Harris didn't answer, which was worse than a direct accusation.
He closed his notebook.
"Get some rest, Miss Hayes. You'll need it. The lead investigator will want a full statement tomorrow."
He walked toward the door, pausing before exiting.
"One more thing," he added coldly. "The Blackwood son is still alive."
Elara blinked. "What?"
"does he think I did it?"
1. "he want answers"
Her stomach tightened with dread.
"What… what's his name?" she whispered.
Harris looked back over his shoulder.
"Aiden Blackwood."
The room felt suddenly colder.
Harris's voice dropped into something darker.
"And if he believes for one second that you had anything to do with what happened to his family… God help you, Miss Hayes."
The door shut.
Elara's breath trembled violently.
Somewhere in the city, a grieving, furious man was coming for her.
And someone had already whispered her name into the flames.