Adrien's POV
The gas station bathroom stall felt like the center of the universe, a tiny, stinking universe where the only truth was the glowing screen in his hand. The video had ended, but it played on a loop behind Adrien's eyes. Each laugh, each brutal impact, was a fresh wound. He leaned his forehead against the cool, graffiti-scarred metal of the stall door, forcing air into lungs that didn't want to work. Breathe. In. Out. You have a mission now. You have targets.
The raw, screaming agony of the father was being forcibly compacted, pressurized by the cold, analytical engine of the soldier. It was a familiar, terrible alchemy. Grief was a luxury. Rage was fuel, but unstable. What he needed was ice-cold purpose. He had it. Eight faces. One name: Leo Oliver.
He powered off the burner phone, its cheap plastic casing suddenly the most valuable object on the planet. He slipped it into an inner pocket of his jacket, securing it. Primary evidence. Do not lose. He exited the stall, splashed icy water on his face in the grimy sink, and met his own eyes in the cracked mirror. The man looking back was different from the one who'd stepped off the plane. The hope was gone, scoured away. Something harder and darker had taken its place. Okay. New mission parameters established. Return to HQ for next phase.
HQ was Harper's room.
The walk back to the hospital was a tactical exercise in situational awareness. He noted every car, every person, every camera. Are they watching me yet? Does Miller have someone tailing the grieving father? He moved with a purposeful, ground-eating stride, not running, but covering distance with efficient, military precision.
Back in the ICU hallway, the air felt thicker, charged with silent threat. He paused outside Room 312, his hand on the door handle, bracing himself to re-enter the reality of the hissing ventilator and the pale, still form of his daughter. He needed to see her. He needed the sight of her to temper the murderous fury the video had unleashed, to direct it with precision, not blind anger.
But as he pushed the door open, he found he wasn't alone. Chief Miller was back. He wasn't hovering by the bed; he was standing squarely in the middle of the small room, arms crossed, as if holding ground. He turned as Adrien entered, his expression not one of sympathy, but of impatient finality.
"Moore. We need to wrap this up," Miller said, dispensing with any pretense of condolence.
Adrien didn't acknowledge him. He walked past him as if he were furniture and went to Harper's side. He took her hand, a silent apology for leaving, a silent vow. I saw it. I know. He could feel Miller's gaze burning into his back.
"The paperwork's done," Miller continued, his voice a low, bureaucratic drone. "Accidental injury. The case is closed. You should focus on your family, on getting your daughter better." The words were right, but the tone was all wrong. It was the tone of a man closing a file, not comforting a parent.
Adrien turned slowly. "Closed? You haven't interviewed me. You haven't taken a statement."
"We have all the statements we need," Miller said flatly. "From the first responders. From the medical staff. The evidence at the scene supports the conclusion."
"What evidence?" Adrien asked, his voice deceptively quiet. "The evidence of a struggle? Of a fight?"
Miller's eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "I told you. A fall can cause a lot of mess. A kid panics, grabs at things." He was reiterating the script, but there was a new edge to it, a warning. "You need to let this go, Adrien. For your own good. You start making noise, spreading rumors… this town has a way of protecting its peace. You're new back here. You don't want to make enemies."
The threat was no longer veiled. It was laid bare on the sterile hospital air. Make enemies. As if Adrien hadn't just identified eight of them, and the man who likely gave this order was their king.
Adrien held the Chief's gaze, saying nothing. His silence was more unnerving than any argument. He was assessing, profiling. Miller wasn't just a lazy cop. He was an active participant. He was the clean-up crew. The weight of that realization settled on Adrien's shoulders. The corruption wasn't just in the shadows; it wore a badge and stood in his daughter's hospital room.
Miller misread his silence for submission. He gave a curt nod. "Smart. Now, I've got a Veterans Day ceremony to oversee. Town's full of real heroes today." He shot a last, dismissive glance at Harper. "Hope she pulls through."
He walked out, leaving the stench of his hypocrisy hanging in the room.
Adrien stood rooted, the Chief's words echoing. Town's full of real heroes. The bitter acid of it rose in his throat. The men being celebrated today had fought external enemies. His fight was here, against the enemy within, an enemy that celebrated itself at galas and gave orders from a judge's bench.
He looked at Harper, at the machines doing the work of living for her. I'm sorry, baby. The man who's supposed to protect this town just threatened me to protect the boys who did this to you. The last faint illusion that the system would work shattered completely. There would be no justice from them. There would only be cover-up.
The door opened again, softly this time. Adrien turned, expecting another threat. It was Sarah, the nurse. She carried a chart, the picture of professional diligence, but her eyes were lasers of urgency. She didn't approach the bed. She went to the medical supply cabinet mounted on the wall, fiddling with the lock.
"The gala is tonight," she whispered, her back to him, as if speaking to the bandages on the shelf. "Judge Oliver's annual Veterans Day charity ball. At his estate on the ridge. Everyone who matters will be there." She pulled out a roll of tape, her movements tense. "Including the boys. It's the social event of the season."
She turned, her eyes meeting his for a fractured second as she pretended to note something on the chart. In that glance, he saw it all: the disgust, the defiance, the unspoken plan. She wasn't just giving him information. She was giving him a target. A time and a place.
"The town honors its heroes," she murmured, her voice barely audible, "while the wolf dresses for dinner."
She turned and left, the door sighing shut behind her.
Adrien was alone again with the hum and beep of the machines. But the room no longer felt like a sterile prison. It felt like a command center. The intelligence was flowing in. Enemy location identified: Oliver Estate. Enemy force composition: political power, wealth, police protection, and eight untouchable sons. Time of assembly: tonight.
His mind, a supercomputer trained for assault planning, began to whir. A direct assault was suicide. He was one man. Infiltration? Disruption? The goal wasn't annihilation. Not yet. The goal was to send a message. To tear the mask off. To make them look at what they'd done.
He thought of the burner phone in his pocket. The video. The evidence they thought they'd buried.
He looked at Harper, his voice a low, steady promise in the quiet room. "They're having a party tonight, sweetheart. I think it's time we crashed it."
The official path was closed, locked by the Chief himself. But Sarah had handed him a map to the enemy's front door. As dusk began to settle over Evergreen Falls, Adrien knew his next move. The battlefield was shifting from the hospital to a mansion on the hill, and he would be the uninvited guest of honor.