By the end of the workday, Darian felt the fatigue settle in fully.
He closed the last file on his desk and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders loosened slightly. The day had been productive, decisive even, yet the constant motion had left a tension in his chest that no amount of progress could ease.
There were things weighing on him that had nothing to do with balance sheets or restructuring.
Darian gathered his coat and stepped out of his office, where Ethel was finishing up at her desk. She looked up as he approached.
"Long day," she said gently.
"Yes," Darian replied. "But a good one."
He paused, then added, "Tomorrow, please schedule a few meetings with the advisory board candidates my uncle recommended. I want to start those conversations early."
"I will take care of it," Ethel said, already making a note.
Darian nodded. "You should head out as well. Get some rest."
"You too, sir," she replied.
He offered a small smile before continuing toward the elevators.
The underground garage was quiet when he arrived. A dark, unassuming sedan waited in its usual spot. Darian preferred it that way. No driver. No entourage. He had never liked inconveniencing others for the sake of appearances.
He pulled out of the garage and merged into the evening traffic, the city unfolding around him. These streets had carried his family for generations. He knew them by instinct now. Every turn felt familiar, even comforting.
The drive ended in front of a hospital like building set a little apart from the rest of the city.
Synder Rotel Long Term Care Ward.
Darian sat in the car for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting on the steering wheel. His expression softened, something weary and sad flickering across his face before he finally stepped out and headed inside.
The receptionist greeted him quietly and directed him down the hall.
"Room forty four," she said. "The nurse will update you."
The nurse was kind and professional. She told him that Ailah had been stable. Eating well. Sleeping better. No major changes.
"It is a good week," she said.
Darian thanked her sincerely and continued down the corridor.
The room was clean to the point of sterility. White walls. Minimal furniture. Almost bare, as if comfort had been considered secondary to order.
A young woman with auburn hair sat in a wheelchair near the television. The screen played quietly, though it was unclear if she was watching. Her gaze was unfocused, distant.
Darian approached slowly.
He gently adjusted the shawl that had slipped from her shoulders, careful not to startle her. Then he pulled a chair beside her and sat down, leaning back with a quiet sigh.
"How have you been, Ailah," he asked softly.
There was no response.
"That is alright," he said after a moment. "I will tell you anyway."
He spoke to her about his day. About the meetings. About the changes happening at the company. He told her about the city, about small things he noticed on the drive over, about the way the evening light hit the buildings.
Ailah remained silent, her eyes fixed on the television.
Darian did not mind.
He sat there with her, talking softly into the quiet room, content simply to be present.
As the one sided conversation continued, Darian's thoughts drifted backward, pulled by memory rather than intention.
He thought of childhood summers at Wormwood Estate, the Synder family home that sat on the edge of Grayhaven, overlooking the river and the old districts of the city. He could almost hear the echo of laughter in its long corridors. He, Ailah, and her older brother racing through the gardens, climbing where they should not, breaking things they did not understand the value of, and vanishing for hours only to reappear covered in dirt and triumph.
The Rotel family had been as old as the Synders themselves. One of the earliest families to settle Grayhaven, back when it was little more than a trading post and a promise. Their fortunes had never risen the way the Synders' had, but that never mattered. They were close in a way money never dictated. Dinners together. Shared holidays. Quiet loyalty.
Ailah had grown up beside him, not beneath him.
She was the last of them now.
The accident had taken her parents the same night it took his. A single moment that erased two families at once. Darian had survived with scars that were visible only when he allowed himself to slow down. Ailah had not been so fortunate. The mental anguish hollowed her out slowly, leaving her body behind while her mind retreated somewhere he could not follow.
And now, years later, here they were.
She was his only friend.
He was her only family.
Darian watched her face as he spoke, searching for signs he had long since stopped expecting. A flicker of recognition. A moment of clarity. Anything.
Nothing came.
He wondered what she was thinking, if she was thinking at all. If somewhere inside, she still remembered Wormwood Estate. The river. The way the city smelled after rain.
If she would ever come back.
"I will wait," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
Hours passed unnoticed. Eventually, the light outside the window softened into evening. Darian stood and gently placed the shawl more securely around her shoulders.
"I should go," he said softly. "I will visit again soon."
He lingered for a moment, looking at her as if committing her presence to memory all over again, then turned and left the room.
In the hallway, he encountered the ward director, an older man with tired eyes and careful manners. They exchanged brief greetings before the conversation turned practical.
The director spoke of space constraints. Staffing shortages. Equipment that needed replacement. The ward had been struggling for some time now.
This place was one of the charities personally funded by the Synder family, separate from the business. It had never been meant to struggle.
Darian sighed quietly. "Let us discuss this properly," he said. "Visit me next month. We will see what can be done."
Relief crossed the director's face. "Thank you, Mr. Synder."
Darian nodded and continued on his way.
Outside, the night air was cool. He drove home through the familiar streets of Grayhaven, the city lights reflecting off the windshield as exhaustion finally claimed him.
Tomorrow would bring more work.
Tonight, he would rest. Maybe.