Carrington Estate, midnight.
The grandfather clock ticked steadily in the quiet study, echoing off shelves stacked with books and secrets.
Mr. Alfred sat at his mahogany desk, glasses low, sleeves rolled. Before him: scattered printouts, photos, and encrypted files Thea had sent.
Arkos logos. Altered protocols. Falsified reports. Then:
Subject 09 responded negatively to Compound 8. Terminated at Site B.
Signed: J.D.
His hand curled against the polished wood.
He picked up the cell phone, reserved for one contact.
The line clicked.
"Whatever it is, it better be good," the familiar voice said. Smooth, commanding, and wearier than before.
"It is, sir," Alfred said quietly. "She found it. Most of it. Trial 09. Compound 8. You never authorized it. Jace Davis did."
A long pause.
"You're sure?" Raymond Carrington asked.
"Batch numbers confirm it. She traced it to Arkos's underground archive."
Raymond expect. "Didn't expect it so soon. She always did have your eye for detail."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Not yet. I'll be back from Switzerland by Friday. No moves until then. Let things lie."
"And Jane?"
"She's still in the dark."
Mr. Alfred's hand hovered over the file once more. His jaw clenched. "Then we'd better pray she stays there."
The line went dead.
Zurich, Jane Hayes Suite.
The second day of the conference left Jane hollow. She and Jace exchanged only a handful of words, his sharp glances reminding her of yesterday's brush with Raymond Carrington.
Back in her suite, city lights glittered like trapped stars. Jane sat motionless on the bed, tablet glowing with unread notifications.
She dialed.
The line rang twice before her mother's voice came through.
"Jane?"
"Hi, Mama. I just wanted to check on you."
"Oh, my baby girl. You sound tired."
Jane tried to smile. "I'm fine. The conference is just... a lot. Are they treating you well?"
"They are," Fallon Hayes replied gently. "Nurse Tilda's kind, and they let me paint by the garden."
"That's good." Jane whispered. "You deserve peace."
Silence. Then: "You've been taking your medication, haven't you?"
Jane hesitated.
"Jane," her mother warned, the same old edge in her voice. "Don't skip them. You know what happens. The dreams come back. And they hurt you."
"I know."
They hung up minutes later. Her mother's voice lingered, sweet and haunting.
Jane opened her handbag, pulled out two small amber bottles. The labels were faded, the name beneath the dosage instructions her own. One of the bottles glinted oddly under the light, etched with a symbol she'd never seen in pharmacy school. It looked less like medicine and more like a company's private signature.
She tipped one pale tablet into her palm. So small. So ordinary.
Why had she swallowed these her whole life?
She couldn't remember the first dose. Only the nightmares. The hush-hush doctor visits.
No maker. No side effects listed. Only a cryptic code, and endless refills sent from the same obscure address.
Jane put the pill back in the bottle and sealed the cap tightly. Not tonight. Instead she sat by the window, watching the lights flicker across her face.
Zurich. Raymond's Suite. 3:41 a.m.
The suite was silent, but far from calm. Regret pressed against the glass like ghosts.
Barefoot, Raymond Carrington paced the room, a half-empty glass of scotch in hand. Minutes ago, he had studied his reflection. Older. Grayer. Lined with guilt.
He had seen her again. Jane.
Two days earlier at the conference, she had stood beside the Arkos booth. Wearing a staff badge, assisting Jace Davis. Of all men.
The thought still twisted his stomach.
Raymond reached for the second phone on the table and dialed. The call connected after two rings.
"Hello?" A soft, worn voice. Then quieter: "Raymond?"
He closed his eyes. That voice, laced with grace. Still hers.
"How have you been?" he asked.
A faint sigh. "I've been… fine. You're calling late."
"I know. I couldn't sleep. Have you started chemo? The doctor I sent… is he still checking in?"
No response.
"Fallon?"
"I stopped. A few weeks ago." She admitted.
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then his voice came, low and rough.
"Damn it, Fallon. You should've told me."
"It wasn't your decision to make anymore."
"I still need you," Raymond said. "Even if I shouldn't."
Silence stretched—years, oceans, lies—yet something real remained.
"I saw her," he said at last.
Fallon's breath caught. "You're sure?"
"I'd know her anywhere. Same eyes. Your grace."
"She doesn't know," Fallon said quickly. "She's never asked, just about her dad. And I never told her."
He sat on the edge of the bed. "Does she still take the pills?"
Fallon hesitated. "She stopped, I don't know when. She called me. She didn't say it, but I heard it in her voice. It's probably nothing, work has been hard on her."
Raymond rubbed his forehead. "Why is she even working for him?" His voice sharpened with resentment.
Fallon had no answer. "Ray.."
"I don't regret what we did," he said. "It was the only option we had. You know that, right?"
She nodded to no one. "I know."
They lingered in the silence, bound by the same secret.
Finally, Fallon spoke. "It's late. You should rest, Raymond."
"Please reconsider the treatment," he urged.
"Goodnight, Sir."
The line went dead.
Fallon lowered the phone, her hands trembling. Moonlight filled the room. She turned toward the window, half-expecting a ghost.
Nurse Tilda entered with a tray. A glass of water, two white tablets. Routine.
"Miss Fallon, time for your medication."
Fallon smiled weakly and nodded. "Thank you, Tilda."
The nurse handed her the pills, and Fallon took them without protest. Though her mind was elsewhere.
"Shall I help you to bed?" the nurse asked.
"I can manage," Fallon said, but Tilda, ever intuitive, stayed close anyway.
Minutes later, Fallon lay beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling fan. The blur above matched the spin in her thoughts.
The lie was unraveling.
Soon, Jane would remember.
Tilda dimmed the lights and whispered goodnight. Fallon closed her eyes, but sleep never came.