The night pressed against the hospital windows like a secret waiting to be whispered. The moonlight bled through the blinds, striping Luiz's bruised face in silver and shadow.
He'd waited hours — counting every sound, every step in the hallway. When the lights dimmed and the night shift began, he moved.
His ribs screamed in protest as he swung his legs off the bed. The floor was cold, sterile. Every motion reminded him he was still broken, but pain was a familiar companion — one he could negotiate with.
He reached for the folded nurse's coat he'd stolen earlier when no one was looking. It smelled faintly of disinfectant. The ID badge dangled from the pocket, swinging like a key to freedom.
Luiz slipped it on.
His heart hammered as he stepped into the corridor. The silence was thick, interrupted only by distant beeps and the roll of a cart. He kept his head low, walking with the slow, confident rhythm of someone who belonged.
A guard passed at the far end of the hall, nodding without a glance.
Luiz didn't breathe until he was through the exit doors.
Outside, the air hit him like salt and rain. The hospital sat near the edge of the island, where cliffs met the sea. Beyond the gates, the Valentine estate lights glowed on the hill — a cruel reminder of the cage he'd just slipped from.
He found an alley behind a row of closed shops and pulled out his phone. Cracked screen. Low battery. But enough.
He dialed one number.
"Evan."
It rang twice.
Then — "Luiz? Damn, man, what happened to you?"
His old coworker's voice carried a mix of fear and relief.
"Long story," Luiz rasped. "I just need a place to stay. A few days. You still at the docks?"
Evan hesitated. "Yeah, still working the shipments. But you can't show your face there. Your family's been sniffing around—"
"I'll manage," Luiz said flatly. "Just tell me which warehouse is still quiet."
A sigh. Then: "Warehouse 7. I'll leave the door unlocked."
The line went dead.
Luiz tucked the phone into his pocket and started walking. Each step hurt, but the wind tasted like freedom.
He crossed through the back streets — the side of the island the rich pretended didn't exist. Broken neon signs buzzed over bars and fish markets, the smell of the ocean mixing with oil and smoke.
By the time he reached the docks, the world felt half-asleep.
Warehouse 7 stood half-lit, its steel doors rusted from years of salt spray. Inside, a small lantern flickered. Evan stood there, jacket thrown over his shoulder, eyes wide when he saw Luiz limping in.
"Jesus, man." Evan rushed forward. "You look like you crawled out of a grave."
"Feels like it too," Luiz muttered, dropping onto a crate.
Evan looked uneasy. "You sure this is smart? The Valentines control half this island. If they find out—"
"They already know," Luiz said quietly. "They just don't know what I know."
Evan frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Luiz pointed at a shipping manifest pinned to the wall. The Valentine crest stamped across the paper gleamed faintly in the lantern light.
"These wine shipments," he said. "I handled their documentation back when I worked in the export branch. But half of these… never made it into the official ledgers."
Evan blinked. "You mean—"
"They're moving money. Offshore. Quietly. Through the very wine that built their empire." Luiz leaned back, the shadow of a grim smile cutting across his bruised face. "I've seen too much. That's why they wanted me gone."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the creak of the waves against the docks.
Evan swallowed hard. "So… what now?"
Luiz's gaze hardened. "Now, I disappear for a while. Get back on my feet. Maybe go back to school. Find a job. Something small — quiet. I just need time to plan."
He pushed himself up slowly, every movement sharp with pain. "But when I come back… I'll make them choke on their own secrets."
Thunder rolled across the sea.
And somewhere high on the hill, in one of the Valentine towers, a phone rang.
Grandmother Valentine picked it up, listening in silence.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Find him," she said.
The line went dead.