I didn't want Emily to see Sophia.
That thought was louder than the echo of our footsteps in the hallway as I unlocked the door to my apartment. Not because I was ashamed. Not because I was hiding something shameful.
But because the moment Emily saw her, everything would collapse.
Sophia had a face you didn't forget. A face that carried memory in its bones. Emily was a doctor—trained to notice details, trained to remember. If she saw Sophia even once, recognition would spark. And once that spark caught fire, there would be no stopping it.
I pushed the door open carefully.
Warm light spilled into the hallway.
William was sitting on the sofa, half-asleep, his phone loose in his hand, the television muted. He looked up the moment the door opened—and then his eyes widened.
Not because of me.
Because of Emily.
I stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind us, placing myself just slightly in front of her without making it obvious.
William stood up.
I moved closer to him and spoke low, my voice deliberate, urgent.
"Is Mom asleep?"
William blinked, confused by the question, then nodded. "Yeah. She's been asleep for hours. But—" his eyes flicked past me toward Emily, "who's she?"
I leaned in closer. "Don't tell Mom," I said quietly. "I'll explain later."
His brows shot up. "You brought a girl home?"
"Later," I repeated. "Please."
He studied my face, searching for answers, then sighed. "Fine."
I straightened and turned toward Emily, forcing calm into my posture.
"This is William," I said. "My friend."
I glanced at him. "William, this is Dr. Emily Rose. She'll be staying here tonight."
William recovered quickly, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, Doctor."
Emily shook it politely. "Nice to meet you."
Professional. Composed. Like nothing about tonight had shaken her.
William's gaze lingered between us a second too long, but he didn't say anything.
"Can you arrange something to eat?" I asked him. "She hasn't had dinner."
William nodded slowly. "Sure."
"And," I added, "she'll be staying in my room."
That earned me a look.
But he said nothing.
I turned to Emily. "Please, come with me."
She followed without question.
The door to my room closed softly behind us. The space felt smaller instantly—too intimate, too quiet. My room wasn't messy, but it wasn't prepared for company either. It smelled faintly of detergent and something metallic—probably adrenaline that hadn't left my system yet.
"You can freshen up," I said, gesturing toward the bathroom. "I'll bring food."
She hesitated. "What should I wear?"
That question caught me off guard.
I turned to my wardrobe, my movements slower now. I pulled out a clean T-shirt—dark grey, soft cotton—and handed it to her.
"Will this work?"
She held it up, measuring it against herself, then smiled.
"It'll reach my knees," she said. "That's perfect."
I nodded once and left the room immediately.
The kitchen lights were on. William was already pulling things out of the fridge when I entered. He didn't look up at first.
Then he did.
And smirked.
"So," he said, "is she the doctor who treated you?"
"Yes."
"How did you meet?"
I leaned against the counter and told him everything. China. The camp. The injury. The alley. The wrong number. Daniel.
William listened in silence.
When I finished, he crossed his arms. "Why won't you tell Aunt Sophia?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"Why hide her?" he pressed. "Why not just tell Mom the truth?"
Because she's your cousin, Charlotte.
The words burned in my throat.
"What?" William said sharply.
I looked at him then. Really looked.
And told him everything.
How I recognised Emily the moment I saw her. How her voice matched a memory I had buried. How Charlotte—the girl I grew up with, the girl who disappeared from my life—had grown into Emily Rose.
William stared at me like the ground had shifted beneath him.
"You're saying…" he swallowed, "…she's Charlotte?"
"Yes."
"And she doesn't know?"
"No."
Silence fell heavy between us.
"That's why," I continued quietly, "she can't see Mom. Not yet."
William nodded slowly. "I get it."
From down the hallway, I heard the bathroom door open.
Emily.
I straightened instinctively. Tonight wasn't just about shelter. It was about everything I was trying—and failing—to keep hidden.
The sound of the bathroom door clicking open echoed through the quiet hallway. A moment later, I heard the soft padding of footsteps returning to my room. I waited exactly two minutes—long enough for her to get settled, but not long enough for the silence to become awkward.
I picked up the tray William had prepared: a simple bowl of warm rice, stir-fried vegetables, and water. My hand hovered over the door handle. I knocked twice, softly.
"Come in," her voice called out.
I pushed the door open. Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had changed into my grey T-shirt. It was oversized on her, the hem reaching her knees and the sleeves swallowed her arms, making her look smaller, more vulnerable than the confident doctor I knew.
A sudden, sharp heat climbed up my neck. I immediately averted my gaze, fixing my eyes on a stack of old books on my desk instead of looking at her.
"I brought some food," I said, my voice sounding more clipped than I intended. I walked over and set the tray down on the desk, keeping my profile turned toward her. "Eat this before you go to bed. You need the energy."
I turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold. "I'll be heading out early tomorrow to drop you off. What time do you need to be at the hospital?"
"I need to be there by 6:00 AM," Emily replied. I could hear the slight amusement in her voice. "Andrew... why are you talking to the wall? Is there something interesting over there?"
I cleared my throat, refusing to budge. "Goodnight, Emily."
I closed the door before she could say another word.
The night air was biting, but I welcomed it. I went down to the small, rusted playground behind our apartment complex and sat on one of the swings. The chains groaned under my weight. I stared at the dark horizon of the city, my mind a chaotic map of names and faces.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know it was William. He sat on the swing beside me, the silence stretching between us for several minutes.
"You should come inside," William said eventually. "You can take my bed. I'll crash on the sofa."
"It's already 3:00 AM," I replied, staring at my bandaged knuckles. "There's no point in sleeping now. I have to get her out of here by 6:00 before Mom wakes up and sees her face."
William kicked at the dirt. "You still haven't told me everything, Andrew. You dropped out of the National Trials. You walked away from a career everyone was betting on. Why? Why now?"
"Because I couldn't breathe anymore, William," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl. "Trying to be a star athlete while hunting monsters is like trying to hold fire in your bare hands. I had to choose. And I choose the truth."
"You know who did it," William whispered. "We've known for years."
"Knowing isn't the same as proving," I snapped, turning to look at him. "I need a paper trail. I need confessions. In Guangzhou, I didn't just fight guards. I cornered Mr. Zhao."
"The donor?"
"He wasn't just a donor. He was the architect of the bridge." I leaned forward, the intensity of the memory flooding back. "Zhao was the middleman for a massive international conglomerate—a ghost alliance called 'The Obsidian Circle.' My father's company, Aegis Global, was standing in the way of a trade route that spanned four continents."
I stood up, pacing the small patch of sand.
"This wasn't just Benjamin Thompson's greed, William. It was a calculated execution by a coalition.
Volkov Industries from Russia wanted our Arctic shipping lanes. Shin-Hwa Tech from South Korea wanted our microchip patents. The Vaneech Land Group in Thailand wanted our logistics hubs.
They all had a reason to see the Thompson family erased. But they needed an insider to pull the trigger. They needed someone who knew the security codes, the flight paths, and the hotel layouts. They needed Benjamin. He didn't just kill my parents for the money; he killed them to become the puppet CEO for an international mafia."
William looked stunned. "And Zhao?"
"Zhao handled the payout," I said, my eyes cold. "The money that funded Benjamin's rise came through Zhao's shell companies in China. That USB drive I took... it contains the ledger. It's the first piece of the puzzle that proves my father wasn't killed in an accidental fire. He was liquidated by a global board of directors."
I looked up at the darkened window of my apartment.
"And now, Benjamin's own daughter is sleeping in my room. The world is a very small, very dangerous place, William. And I'm going to tear it down, piece by piece."
The sky over Brooklyn was a bruised purple, the first hint of dawn bleeding through the gaps between the brownstones. At exactly 5:45 AM, the apartment was deathly silent. I guided Emily out of the door like a shadow, my heart thumping against my ribs every time a floorboard creaked. We made it to the car just as the streetlights hummed and flickered out.
I pulled my old sedan into the light traffic heading toward the hospital. The silence in the car was heavy, filled with the scent of the clinical soap she used and the lingering tension of the night before. I kept my eyes strictly on the road, my hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two.
"Andrew?" Emily's voice broke the quiet.
"Yeah?"
"Can I call you sometimes?"
I shifted gears, the engine groaning. "Why?"
"Just because."
"What does 'just because' mean?" I asked, glancing briefly at the side mirror.
She shifted in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "As a friend, obviously."
I almost let out a dry huff. "Since when are we friends?"
"Since yesterday," she said, her tone sparking with that same stubbornness she had used to make me eat soup. "And just so you know, I'm going to call you whether you want me to or not. You're incredibly mysterious, Andrew Parker. It's annoying, but it makes me want to figure you out."
I didn't answer. I just looked at her for a split second—a long, unreadable gaze—before turning back to the Brooklyn traffic. How could I tell her that "figuring me out" would only lead her to a graveyard?
As I pulled up to the hospital's main entrance, Emily reached into her bag. She pulled out a small, brightly colored canister and held it out to me.
"Here," she said.
I looked at it, then at her. "What is this?"
"It's an analgesic cooling spray," she said, her expression turning into a mock-serious doctor face. "Since you seem to have a hobby of getting punched, kicked, and thrown into walls, you're going to need this. The next time you decide to play hero in an alleyway, spray this on the area. It'll stop the swelling."
I stared at the can. It had a cartoonish logo of a smiling ice cube on it. "I don't need a 'smiling ice cube' spray, Emily."
"Take it," she insisted, shoving it into my hand. "Consider it a prescription for your stubbornness. If I find out you're bruised and didn't use it, I'll double the dosage of my 'annoying' behavior the next time I see you."
A small, reluctant tug formed at the corner of my mouth. I tucked the spray into the glove box. "Get out of the car, Doctor."
She grinned, hopped out, and waved once before disappearing through the sliding glass doors.
The moment she was gone, the air in the car turned cold again. I drove toward a secluded pier on the edge of Brooklyn, where the salt air was thick and the rusted shipping containers hid the world from view.
Ethan was leaning against his black SUV, checking his watch. He looked tired—the kind of tired that comes from carrying a badge in a city that never stops breaking the law.
"You're late," Ethan said as I stepped out.
"I had a... complication," I replied, walking toward him.
"Does the complication have a name?"
"Not one you need to worry about," I said, leaning against the railing. I looked out at the water, the New York skyline rising like a jagged jawbone in the distance. "I have the drive, Ethan. Zhao was the key. He wasn't just paying the bills; he was the treasurer for a group called the Obsidian Circle."
Ethan straightened up, his eyes narrowing. "Obsidian? That's a heavy name, Andrew. That's international territory."
"It is," I said, my voice hardening. "Russia, South Korea, Thailand. They all took a piece of my father's empire. But Benjamin was the one who opened the door. He didn't just want the money, Ethan. He wanted to be the king of a hill that didn't belong to him. He sold his soul to three different foreign companies just to get rid of my parents."
Ethan sighed, looking at the grey waves. "You're talking about taking down three global corporations and a billionaire CEO. Even with that drive, you're one man against a mountain."
"I've spent ten years climbing," I said, reaching into my pocket and feeling the cold metal of the USB drive. "I don't care how high the mountain is. I'm going to make sure Benjamin Thompson is the one who falls off the edge."
Ethan looked at me, a flicker of concern in his gaze. "And the girl? The doctor? Where does she fit in?"
I thought of the cooling spray with the smiling ice cube in my glove box.
"She doesn't," I said, though my heart didn't believe the lie. "She stays in the light. I stay here."