The air in the medical corridor felt heavy.
Caesar sat upright in the hospital bed, red eyes sharp and restless. Eighteen years in a coma hadn't dulled him. If anything, it had preserved him — frozen his obsession in time.
"I want to see him," he said flatly.
Leah stood near the foot of the bed, her back straight despite the tension crawling up her spine.
"You can't," she replied.
Caesar's gaze snapped to her. "You do not decide that."
"I do," Leah shot back, her voice rising before she could stop it. "When it comes to Izana, I absolutely do."
Silence fell over the room.
Elias stiffened slightly. Dante shifted near the wall but said nothing.
Caesar stared at Leah — really stared at her now.
"Who are you," he asked slowly, "to speak over me about my son?"
Leah swallowed once. But she didn't look away.
"I'm his wife."
The words landed heavily.
Caesar's expression didn't change at first.
Then — a small, disbelieving huff of air escaped him.
"His wife?" His red eyes narrowed. "Who would marry him?"
Leah's jaw tightened.
"Someone who knows him."
"Someone foolish," Caesar corrected sharply.
"That's enough," Elias warned.
But Leah stepped forward instead.
"No," she said, voice shaking with anger. "You don't get to talk about him like that. Not after what you did to him."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Caesar's gaze sharpened. "What I did," he repeated. "I perfected him."
"You engineered him," Leah snapped. "You treated him like something to build — not someone to love!"
The words echoed.
For a moment, something flickered in Caesar's eyes. Recognition.
That tone.
That fire.
He leaned back slightly, studying her more carefully now.
"You…" he murmured. "That voice."
Leah's breathing was uneven, but she didn't stop.
"You weren't done engineering him, were you?" she demanded. "That's why you're so desperate to see him. Not because you're his father. Because he's unfinished."
Dante inhaled sharply.
Elias moved closer to Leah in case this went too far.
Caesar didn't explode.
He stared at her — almost calculating.
"I was not finished," he admitted quietly. "He was evolving beyond projections. I needed more time."
Leah's hands clenched.
"He's not a project!"
Caesar's voice rose suddenly. "He is my greatest creation!"
Leah shouted back without thinking.
"He's your son!"
The word son rang against the walls.
Caesar froze.
That tone.
That anger.
He'd heard it before.
In a small room filled with monitors. In a child who refused to break completely. In red eyes that glared back at him instead of lowering.
He exhaled slowly.
"You speak like him," Caesar said quietly.
Leah blinked.
"You defy like him."
She said nothing.
Caesar's gaze softened — just barely.
"You are his wife," he concluded at last. "No one else would stand in front of me like this."
Leah's chest rose and fell heavily.
Elias touched her shoulder gently. "That's enough."
She didn't argue this time.
Elias guided her toward the door. Dante gave Caesar one long look before following.
The door shut.
Inside the room, the silence thickened.
Caesar stared at the empty doorway.
"She carries his fire," he murmured.
Minutes passed.
Then the door opened again — this time, only a nurse entered.
She moved carefully, clipboard in hand, clearly uneasy around him.
"Just a routine check," she said softly.
Caesar's red eyes slid toward her.
"Where is Izana?"
The nurse stiffened.
"He's… not in the mansion," she said carefully.
"I know that," Caesar replied coldly. "Where is he?"
She hesitated.
Her training screamed at her not to reveal anything.
"He's in a secure medical facility," she repeated.
Caesar's eyes darkened.
"Do not insult me."
The nurse swallowed.
"Sir—. "
"I have been unconscious for eighteen years," Caesar interrupted. "I can feel the tension in this building. I can see the way you avoid specifics. He is not in a facility. He is not under observation. So tell me."
His voice dropped.
"Where is my son?"
The nurse's hands trembled.
"I— I can't—."
Caesar leaned forward slightly.
"I am not asking again."
There was no shouting this time.
No raised voice.
Just quiet authority — and something far more dangerous: certainty.
The nurse's composure cracked.
"He left," she whispered.
Caesar went completely still.
"…What?"
Her eyes filled with fear.
"He left," she repeated, voice shaking. "Two years ago."
The room felt like it tilted.
"He what," Caesar said again — slower now.
"He disappeared," she blurted out. "He left the mansion. No one's seen him since."
Silence.
Total, suffocating silence.
Caesar's hands slowly curled into fists against the sheets.
"…Two years," he repeated.
"Yes."
"And he has not returned."
"No."
"And you allowed this."
Her voice broke. "We couldn't stop him."
Caesar stared at the far wall.
Two years.
Two years of absence.
Two years of evolution beyond his reach.
Two years of unfinished work.
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"Does Elias know?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"And the girl."
"Yes."
Leah knew.
His wife knew.
And they had kept this from him.
A low sound escaped him — not quite anger. Not quite laughter.
"He escaped," Caesar murmured.
The nurse didn't respond.
"He escaped me."
For the first time since waking, something unfamiliar flickered in his expression.
Not rage.
Not arrogance.
Something closer to… realization.
Izana had left on his own.
Not taken.
Not hidden in some facility.
He had chosen to leave.
Two years ago.
Caesar looked back at the nurse.
"Who knows where he is?"
"No one," she whispered. "They've been searching."
Searching.
Even now.
Even after two years.
His red eyes sharpened again — but differently this time.
Not like a scientist reclaiming property.
Like a strategist adjusting a plan.
"You may go," he said quietly.
The nurse hesitated — then fled the room.
The door closed.
Caesar leaned back slowly against the pillows.
Two years.
He imagined Izana older. Stronger. Freer.
Untethered.
Unfinished.
A slow smile formed.
"So," he murmured to the empty room.
"You ran."
His eyes darkened with something dangerous — but not entirely cruel.
"Good."
Because if Izana had survived alone for two years…
Then he had surpassed every projection Caesar had ever calculated.
And that meant one thing.
The experiment hadn't failed.
It had evolved.
Caesar's fingers tapped lightly against the blanket.
"You thought you could hide this from me," he whispered.
He wasn't speaking to the nurse anymore.
He was speaking to Elias.
To Leah.
To anyone who thought they could control information.
"You should have known better."
Outside the room, down the corridor, Leah stopped walking suddenly.
Dante looked at her. "What?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know," she whispered.
A chill ran down her spine.
Inside his room, Caesar stared at the ceiling, red eyes burning brighter than before.
Two years gone.
Two years unmonitored.
Two years of growth.
He exhaled slowly.
"Run as far as you like, Izana."
His voice was calm.
"But I will find you."
And this time…
He wouldn't be waking up unprepared.