Amelia's eyelids fluttered open to a white ceiling blurred by the haze of morphine and exhaustion.
The faint beeping of a heart monitor filled the quiet air, rhythmic and unrelenting. She tried to sit up, but a sharp sting in her shoulder sent her body collapsing back onto the pillow.
Her breaths came shallow at first, then steadied as fragments of memory began to bleed into her consciousness...
From the train... to the ropes... to the shouting... to the gunfire… and him.
Ethan.
The name drifted to the surface of her mind like a whisper from a dream.
She blinked again, trying to anchor herself to reality. The sterile smell of disinfectant told her she was in a hospital. The soft beeping of machinery confirmed she was still alive.
But everything in between... how she'd gotten here, who had brought her, what had happened afterward, was a blur.
The door creaked open.
"Miss Amelia!"
A flurry of movement followed. Her personal assistant, Lila, rushed to her side, nearly knocking over a vase of roses as she did.
Behind her came two other assistants, and finally, Sam, her head of security. He was a broad-shouldered man whose face was usually stone cold but now carried an expression of guilt and fatigue.
"Careful! Don't strain yourself!" Lila scolded while pressing a hand gently to Amelia's good shoulder. "You've been out for days!"
"Days?" Amelia's voice was a hoarse rasp.
"A week, actually," Sam voiced quietly, standing at the foot of the bed. His left arm was bandaged, his right hand fidgeting at his side. "We… we thought we lost you."
Lila immediately shot Sam a venomous glare. "That's because someone didn't do his job!"
Sam's jaw tightened. "Lila—"
"No, don't you 'Lila' me! You were supposed to be her protection detail, not an ornament with muscles!" she snapped loudly.
Amelia's head throbbed at their bickering. "Enough…" she muttered.
Lila froze mid-sentence. Sam fell silent with guilt shadowing his features. It wasn't that he didn't try to keep her safe... but the ambush was completely unexpected and well thought out. He even nearly lost his life in the process
"I'm alive. That's what matters," Amelia said, forcing composure into her tone. "Now… where is he?"
The room went still.
Lila blinked. "He?"
"Yes." Amelia's gaze swept across their puzzled faces. "The man who saved me. Where is he?"
Sam stepped forward with confusion knitting his brow. "Miss, when we found you, you were alone."
"That's impossible," she replied sharply. "He was right there—Ethan. He works in the design department. Clumsy, quiet… he spilled coffee on me two weeks ago, remember?"
Lila frowned and exchanged looks with the others. "You mean that Ethan? The one who couldn't even fix a copier?"
"Yes, that one."
Lila blinked, as if waiting for Amelia to realize how absurd that sounded. When she didn't, Lila continued hesitantly, "Ma'am, with all due respect, that's impossible. The call we received was anonymous. Coordinates were sent to our emergency line. We dispatched a team immediately, but when we arrived, there were… bodies. Dozens of them. But no one else alive except you."
Sam added grimly, "No footprints leading away, no vehicles nearby. Whoever did it… vanished."
Amelia's pulse quickened. "No. He was there. He—he fought them all off. He saved me from the train. I saw him…"
Her words faltered. The images replayed in her mind in rough flashes: Ethan standing between her and the gunfire; his tattooed glowing faintly, bullets phasing through or being deflected by unseen force; the look in his eyes was focused and lethal... nothing like the bumbling fool she'd known at the company.
Lila's voice softened in pity. "You've been through a traumatic event, Miss Amelia. It's normal for the mind to… fill in gaps."
Amelia turned her head away, staring out the window where sunlight filtered through drawn blinds. She didn't believe them. She knew what she'd seen.
"Have the police been contacted?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes," Sam replied. "They'll be here later today to take your statement. They want to know who did this, what they wanted."
Amelia's expression darkened. "They wanted me to hand over the weapon system I've been developing. Said they'd make me sign over control. When I refused… they tied me to the tracks."
Lila gasped quietly.
"They said I'd die there," Amelia continued. "But I didn't. Because of him." Her eyes narrowed slightly as her tone turned firm. "Don't tell me I imagined that."
Sam lowered his gaze, saying nothing. He wasn't sure what to believe.
After a few moments of silence, Lila cleared her throat. "You should rest, Miss. You've lost a lot of blood. The doctors said you were lucky—the bullet missed any major artery, though you'll need therapy for your shoulder."
"I'll be fine," Amelia said dismissively. "I've got work to do."
"Work?" Lila nearly shrieked. "You can't be serious! You were almost killed!"
Amelia's tone was firm. "The world doesn't stop because I was tied to a train track, Lila. If anything, this makes my work more important."
Sam stepped closer. "With all due respect, Miss, whoever orchestrated this might still be out there. Until we know who they are, you're not leaving this building without full protection."
"I don't need protection," she muttered under her breath. "I need answers."
Her assistants exchanged worried looks.
The door opened again, this time revealing a uniformed nurse who carried a clipboard and an uneasy smile. "Miss Lockhart, the police will arrive in about an hour. Please, try to relax before then."
Amelia nodded absently, her mind already elsewhere.
When the nurse and her assistants left the room, she was finally alone with her thoughts. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. The memory of that night replayed again, clearer this time. The flickering train lights. The sound of gunfire echoing in the tunnels. And Ethan—his movements sharp and precise, like someone trained to kill.
And that mark on his hand. That strange, glowing tattoo.
When the bullet had gone through it… and through her.
Amelia instinctively touched her shoulder. Beneath the bandages, she could still feel warmth radiating faintly from the wound. The doctors had said nothing about it, but she knew it wasn't normal. Every now and then, she felt her heartbeat skip, just for a second, as if her body was adjusting to something it didn't understand.
"Ethan…" she whispered.
The name felt strange on her lips. He had always been a clumsy and awkward nobody that she barely noticed. And yet now, her mind wouldn't let go of his face.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she said softly.
Sam stepped in again, carrying a small folder. "You should see this," he voiced while placing it on the table beside her bed. "Background check on your supposed hero. You asked us to dig into everyone who might've been involved."
Amelia raised a brow. "And?"
He hesitated. "That's the problem. There's nothing."
She frowned. "What do you mean, nothing?"
"No employment record prior to three months ago. No social security trace, no education history. Even his file in your company database looks… fabricated. Like someone planted it there."
Amelia's stomach sank.
Sam continued, "If I didn't know better, I'd say he never existed."
Silence fell between them, only interrupted by the machines in the room.
Finally, Amelia said quietly, "Keep this between us for now. No one else hears about this."
Sam nodded. "Understood."
He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Miss… if what you're saying is true—if he really did save you—then whoever he is, he's not just some low level worker."
Amelia's gaze hardened. "No, he's not."
When Sam left, she exhaled slowly and stared out the window again. The city skyline stretched far into the distance, glittering beneath the setting sun.
She thought about the weapon system... the Lockhart Project, that she'd been developing for years to make her father proud.
The project had drawn interest from governments and corporations alike, all promising astronomical deals. But now, it seemed it had also drawn monsters out of the shadows.
And one man who didn't belong in the light.
Her hand drifted to her shoulder again. Beneath the bandage, she felt a faint throb like a heartbeat that wasn't hers but she didn't know what to make of that, at the moment.
---
Later that evening, two detectives from the police department, arrived in plain clothes. They asked routine questions, took notes, nodded sympathetically. But Amelia could tell from their expressions that they didn't believe half of what she said.
"A man named Ethan, you said?" one of them asked, jotting something down.
"Yes," Amelia replied with irritation in her tone.
"Full name?"
"Ethan… I don't know his last name. He works—worked—for Lockhart Industries."
The detective exchanged a glance with his partner. "We'll check it out, ma'am. For now, we recommend you stay somewhere secure. Whoever did this might try again. We could put a protective detail on you, have officers follow you around 24/7..."
"Not necessary. I have a private residence uptown and my own personal security. I'll be safe there," she said curtly.
They nodded, gathered their notes, and left.
When the door closed behind them, Amelia let out a slow breath. Her mind was racing, but her body was still weak.
For now, all she could do was wait... wait to heal, wait to recover, wait for him to reappear.
And when she found him again, she would make him answer for everything... who he was, what that tattoo meant...
She had so many questions...