The morning after;
The sun rose weakly, as if hesitant to shine after the chaos of the night before. The city, still gripped by the aftershocks of the fire, hummed with distant sirens and whispers. But inside Elizabeth's room, everything felt still — too still — like the world outside hadn't yet decided to move on.
Maverick had checked on her earlier his face tight with worry. The news had gone viral overnight, and every attempt to make sense of why she could be the target of such an attack seemed insane.
Knowing that her memories of the past week were broken —full of gaps and shadows only made things harder.
Had she fought with anyone?
Has she done anything?
She couldn't remember.
And worse, there was no one to ask.
She shifted restlessly under the sheets, frustration rising like a tide she couldn't stop.
A flicker of memory surfaced —sharp and sudden.
Her boyfriend.
She had a boyfriend.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as she realised that he hadn't come to see her. Not once. Not after the accident, nor after the fire.
Not even a phone call.
A hollowness opened inside her chested, colder than anything outside her room.
Something was very, very wrong.
**
Deciding to find out about her boyfriend later, she got off the bed.
These days, she no longer felt dizzy when walking, her strength were coming back to her, coupled with the love from her new family she recovered more faster.
Especially from her big brother Alex. He had been checking up on her and taking care of her more than anything,
He would always come to her room everytime he came back from work.
She never expected him to be so gentle because of how cold he looked when she first met him.
While smiling, she went into bathroom.
After which she had her bath, she went downstairs wearing a plain white shirt tucked with black leather pants and her hair were left in waves.
She finally got rid of the bandages attached to her head.
Coming down the stairs, Elizabeth slowed. She noticed a group of strangers — men and women in uniform speaking in low voices with her brother.
Their badges gleamed under the morning light.
The slow murmur of their conversation was the only sound she caught — low, heavy, serious — until her mother called out to her.
" Elizabeth, sweetheart " her mom said, her voice just a little low, worriedly.
At once, every pair of eyes turned towards her. A chill ran down her spine.
One of the men— the only one not in uniform, dressed instead in a simple white shirt, black blazer and dark jeans stepped forward.
" Good day, Ms. Stone". He said, his tone formal, but not unfriendly.
****
Alex stood rigid beside two uniformed officers and the man in plain clothes with a notepad in hand.
Stepping forward, he explained, "I'm Detective Carter. We're investigating the fire at St. Grace Hospital."
Elizabeth nodded, her throat dry. "Okay…"
"We have a few questions," he continued, flipping open his notepad. "You were once a patient in Room 308, correct?"
"Yes," she answered. "But I was discharged nearly a week ago. I haven't been back since."
Detective Carter exchanged a glance with one of the officers. "That's part of the issue. According to the nurse who survived the blast—just before slipping into a coma—your name was the only thing she kept repeating. Over and over. 'Elizabeth Stone.'"
Elizabeth blinked. "What?"
"We're trying to understand why," Carter said. "Were you in contact with anyone from the hospital recently? Did anyone come to see you before or after your discharge?"
"No," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "I haven't spoken to anyone from there. I've been here the whole time with my family."
"Did you make any enemies recently, Ms. Stone? Anyone who might want to hurt you?"
Elizabeth's mind raced. There was no one coming to mind. Then a thought flashed—Andrew... Penelope...
Her stomach tightened.
But would they go this far?
She bit the inside of her cheek. Why had their names even surfaced? Why had her thoughts jumped straight to them?
A chill crept down her spine.
Detective Carter studied her face. "Ms. Stone?"
She blinked, realizing she hadn't answered. "No," she said quickly. "Not that I know of."
He nodded slowly, jotting down a few more notes.
"If anything comes back to you—anything at all—you let us know," he said, handing her a card.
She took it with numb fingers.
As the officers left, the room felt too quiet, the air too still.
Elizabeth stared at the card, her heart pounding.
She needed to find out what happened at that hospital.
Because something wasn't right.
And deep down… she already knew this wasn't over.
Mrs Flynn came hugging Elizabeth to try calming her down.
Alex stared thinking about what they heard the night before and what could have happened if they had been a little late.
** FLASHBACK
[The Night Before]
Alex's phone buzzed just as he stepped into the kitchen, Maverick close behind. The caller ID flashed: Viktor AC Media.
Alex exchanged a glance with Maverick and answered, putting it on speaker.
"Talk to me," Alex said briskly.
Viktor voice was hushed but urgent. "Alex, something's happened at St. Grace. A nurse—she was badly injured in the explosion. Right before she went under, she kept saying a name over and over."
There was a pause.
"Elizabeth Stone."
Maverick stiffened.
"What?" Alex barked.
"I heard it myself. I was there when the paramedics brought her out. She was barely coherent, but she mentioned Elizabeth at least twice. Someone caught it on camera—raw footage."
"Shit," Maverick muttered, already pulling out his laptop.
"You have to shut this down," Alex said, his tone suddenly cold. "You know what this could mean."
"I already pulled the clip. It's not airing," Tunde replied. "But others might pick it up. You need to move fast."
"We're on it," Alex said, and hung up.
Within minutes, they were working. Maverick scrubbed mentions of Elizabeth's name from every database he could reach. Alex made calls, leveraging old debts and unspoken favors to suppress the story.
By morning, the media reports were vague — a hospital fire, several injured, cause unknown. No names. No ties.
Elizabeth's name was buried beneath a wall of silence.
Unbeknownst to them, she had passed by the study as they worked — her steps light, her presence unnoticed. She didn't hear everything… but enough to plant the seed of suspicion she'd wake with.
Back to the present **
Penelope stared at her TV screen, it was late in the afternoon and she had just woken up. She noticed the news on St. Grace Hospital and quickly checked on TV.
" According to a leak from Zephyrline Globals, an explosion occurred at St. Grace's Hospital leaving many injured and a survival outside Rm 308 it seems..." the anchor said.
The rest of the broadcast faded into static noise in her brain.
*
Her eyes wide as the footage looped again. St. Grace Hospital… explosion… oxygen tanks…
The report had no names, no suspects, just smoke and questions. But her gut churned.
Room 308.
She grabbed her phone and dialed Greg, her fingers trembling with barely-contained fury.
He answered on the second ring. "Hello—?"
"You told me it was done!" Penelope hissed, pacing like a caged animal. "You said she was gone. Gone!"
"She was!" Greg snapped back. "I did exactly what you asked. Quiet, no mess. I even checked—"
"Well someone knew she was there!" she cut in. " And it's on the damn news"
Silence.
"You'd better hope that's the only trail " Penelope growled.
"Because if this comes back to me, Greg, I swear—I'll burn you before anyone else gets the chance."
"You're overreacting—"
" No, you're underestimating me," she cuts in, voice like frost.
A beat.
"Don't make me release that video from San Francisco," she hissed. "You remember what was on it. I do too. One leak, and you're done."
Greg swallowed hard. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
She hung up.
And for the first time in days… Penelope felt afraid.
*
Greg's Apartment – Moments Later
Greg stood frozen in his cluttered apartment, the hum of the disconnected call still ringing in his ears.
The weight of Penelope's threat pressed down on him, suffocating him more than any pressure he had ever felt.
The game, the one he'd been immersed in to escape reality suddenly felt meaningless.
San Francisco.
She said it like a weapon—and she was right. It was one.
He dropped the phone on the table, raking a hand through his hair. His mind raced. He'd done what she asked. Quiet. No mess.
Then the fire. How did that happen?
He didn't remember starting a fire or anything?
No one was supposed to know anyways.
His eyes darted to the small safe beneath the floorboard—taped inside were two flash drives. One for insurance. One for escape.
He hadn't thought he'd need them this soon.
With a curse, Greg shoved them into his backpack. If Penelope was spooked, then the walls were closing in. And when Penelope got scared—she got reckless.
He couldn't afford reckless.
Greg checked his phone again. Three missed calls from an unknown number. A chill ran down his spine. Media? Police?
He didn't wait to find out.
He yanked the backpack over his shoulder, shoved his gun into his waistband, and grabbed the burner phone from under the sink. He had contacts—old ones. The kind who knew how to disappear a man.
Because if Penelope was planning to burn him…
He'd vanish before she ever struck the match.