Adrian's POV
The car pulls into the hospital garage.
Adrian barely feels the movement. His hands are still wet. His shirt is still soaked. Her blood has dried to a dark rust against his chest, but he doesn't notice. Doesn't care.
All he sees is her face.
All he hears is her voice.
Please save me.
The car stops. Doors open. Light floods in.
And then they're there nurses, doctors, a stretcher waiting like they've been expecting them. Harrison has called ahead.
They pull Elena from his arms. Gently. Quickly. She's so still, so pale, so small against the white sheets.
"We have her!" A nurse calls out. "BP is low, pulse thready
move, move, move!"
They roll her away. The stretcher wheels click against the floor, fast, urgent, disappearing through double doors.
Adrian stands there. His arms empty. His hands hanging at his sides. Blood on his fingers.
He doesn't move.
Harrison appears beside him. Holding something.
"Sir."
Adrian blinks. Looks at him.
Harrison holds up a bag. Small, cheap, worn at the edges. "She had this. It was on the road beside her."
Elena's bag.
Adrian takes it. His fingers curl around the strap. It's light. Almost empty. He doesn't open it. Not yet.
"Should I call her people?" Harrison asks.
The question hangs in the air.
Her people. Does she have people? Someone who's waiting for her? Someone who loves her? Someone who'll show up at the hospital with tears and questions and demands?
He doesn't know. But he needs to find out.
"Give me her wallet."
Harrison reaches into the bag, pulls out a small worn wallet. Hands it over.
Adrian opens it.
Her ID card stares back at him.
Elena Marie Reyes.
Age: 24. Address in the Bronx. A photo that must be years old, she looks younger, softer, like she hasn't yet learned how to flinch.
Elena.
Not Selena. Elena. Without the S.
He runs his thumb over the photo. Her eyes look back at him. The same eyes. The same face. A different name.
"There's something called a doppelganger," Harrison says quietly. Like he's reading Adrian's thoughts. A double. It happens.
Adrian doesn't answer.
He stares at her face for a long moment. Then he looks up.
"Find everything."
Harrison waits.
"There has to be a reason she was in the middle of that road without seeing the car. She was running from something. Someone." His voice hardens. "And she was injured even before the accident. I saw her face. Someone hit her. Multiple times."
Harrison nods. "I'll dig."
"Every single detail. No stone unturned. I want to know who she is, where she came from, why she was running, and who hurt her."
"Understood."
Adrian looks toward the double doors where they took her. They're closed now. Silent. Sealed.
"The accident," he says. "It shouldn't be known."
Harrison's eyes meet his. Understanding passes between them.
"Clear every security footage from the area. Every camera, every angle. No single trace of what happened tonight. If anyone comes looking for her, they'll find nothing."
"I'll handle it."
Elena's phone rings.
It's in her bag, a cheap model, cracked screen, held together with hope and tape. The screen lights up. A name flashes.
Ethan.
Adrian stares at it.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
A picture accompanies the name of a young man, kind eyes, smiling like he's looking at someone he loves.
Ethan.
"Destroy the phone," Adrian says.
Harrison pauses. "Sir?"
"Destroy it. Now. No traces, no call logs, no way to track her here."
Harrison takes the phone. The ringing stops voicemail, probably. He doesn't hesitate. He pulls out the battery, snaps the SIM card, pockets the pieces.
"Done."
Adrian nods. He looks at the double doors again.
Someone was after her. Someone hurt her. Someone made her run into that road.
He doesn't know who. He doesn't know why.
But he knows one thing.
He will protect her.
He turns and walks into the hospital.
Two days later.
The room is quiet.
Machines beep in soft rhythm. IV drips count seconds into her veins. The blinds are half drawn, letting in pale morning light that falls across her face.
Elena hasn't moved.
She lies on the bed like someone who's already gone. Her face is peaceful, no fear, no pain, no nothing. Just stillness. Just silence. Just the soft rise and fall of her chest.
Adrian sits in the chair beside her.
He's been here for two days. He left once to shower, to change then came back. His office calls. He ignores them. His mother calls. He silences her. Isabella has left seventeen messages. He hasn't listened to any of them.
None of it matters.
Only this room. Only this bed. Only this girl.
The doctor came this morning.
"She's going to be fine," he said. "Physically, she's healing. The cuts are superficial. The bruising will fade. The concussion is mild."
"Then why isn't she waking up?"
The doctor hesitated.
"The brain is complicated, Mr. Sinclair. Sometimes, after trauma, physical or emotional, the brain decides to sleep. It's a defense mechanism. A way of protecting itself."
"When will she wake?"
"When she's ready."
Adrian said nothing. The doctor left.
Now he sits. Watches. Waits.
Her heart rate monitor beeps steady. Her chest rises and falls. She's alive. She's healing.
But she won't open her eyes.
Come back, he thinks. Whoever you're hiding from, wherever you're hiding come back. I'll keep you safe. I promise.
The door opens.
Harrison enters. A file in his hand. His face is unreadable.
"Sir."
Adrian takes the file. Open it.
Harrison sits in the other chair. Waits.
Adrian reads.
Elena Marie Reyes. Age 24. Born at Bronx Lebanon Hospital. Mother died when she was seven. Cause of death, car accident. On Elena's birthday.
He stops. Read it again.
On her birthday.
He keeps reading.
Father, Victor Reyes. Former construction worker. Currently unemployed. History of alcohol abuse, gambling addiction, multiple loans from unlicensed lenders. Several arrests for public intoxication. No convictions for violence yet.
Neighbors report frequent arguments. Screaming. Sounds of hitting. Elena always shows up to work with bruises she tries to hide.
She works at a diner on Arthur Avenue. Overnight shifts. Her coworkers say she's quiet, hardworking, and scared of her own shadow. She was saving money for school won a scholarship to Pratt Manhattan. Full ride. The acceptance fee was due the day after the accident.
The night she was hit: she left work early. Told a coworker she needed to hide her savings before her father came home. He'd been demanding money. More than usual.
Her father took out loans in her name. Without her knowledge. Loan sharks have been looking for her. Threatening her. She's been hiding.
Adrian's jaw tightens.
The night of the accident, neighbors heard shouting. Crashes. A woman screaming. Then Elena ran out of the building, bleeding, holding her bag. Her father chased her. She got away.
But the loan sharks found her first.
Beat her. Left her on the street.
She wandered. Ended up on that road.
Then you found her.
Adrian closes the file.
For a long moment, he doesn't speak.
Then "Her father."
"Arrested." Harrison's voice is calm. "Someone called the police. Probably a neighbor. They found her blood in the apartment. No body. No Elena. They assumed the worst."
"Where is he now?"
"Held at the 48th precinct. They're waiting to charge him. Assault, probably. Maybe manslaughter if they think she's dead."
Adrian stands. Walks to the window. Looks out at the city.
"Someone probably made a call to the police," he says quietly. "Since she's missing, they arrested him. They think she died."
"That's correct."
He turns.
"Go to the police."
Harrison waits.
"They should release her father."
A pause.
"Sir?"
"Release him. No charges. No record of her death. Nothing." Adrian's voice is cold. "Make sure no one from her past knows anything about her or the accident. Her father doesn't get to use her disappearance to play victim. The loan sharks don't get to hunt her. No one gets to touch her. Ever again."
Harrison nods. "Understood."
"Make it clean. Make it quiet. She doesn't exist anymore. Not to them."
Harrison leaves.
Adrian turns back to the window.
Behind him, the machines beep. Elena sleeps.
He doesn't know why he's doing this. Doesn't know why this stranger matters. Doesn't know why her face haunts him like Selena's never stopped.
But he knows one thing.
He will not let her fall.
A nurse enters.
Soft footsteps. Quiet voice.
"Mr. Sinclair? I need to dress her wounds. Change her bandages. It's... private."
He understands.
He stands. Walks to the bed. Looks down at her face one last time.
She's so still. So pale. So young.
Come back, he thinks again. Come back so I can save you.
He turns and walks out.
The door closes behind him.
Ethan's POV
The last time he heard her voice, she was happy.
"He comes home late on Thursdays," she said. "I've planned everything. I hide the money tonight. First thing tomorrow, I get a bus to Manhattan. I pay the fee. I accept the scholarship."
He smiled on his end of the line. She couldn't see it, but he smiled anyway.
"You're really doing this," he said.
"I'm really doing this."
"I'm proud of you, Elena."
Silence. Then, softer: "Thank you, Ethan. For everything."
He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that she was the reason he worked so hard. That every case he won, every client he helped, was practice for the day he could finally take care of her. That he loved her. Had always loved her. Would always love her.
But he didn't.
He just said "Be careful tonight."
"Always."
That was the last time.
Now he sits in his office, surrounded by files he can't focus on, cases he can't think about.
His phone rings for the hundredth time. He answers.
"This is Ethan Miller."
"Mr. Miller, this is Officer Rodriguez from the 48th precinct. Regarding the Victor Reyes case."
Ethan's grip tightens. "Yes?"
"We're releasing him."
The words don't make sense.
"What do you mean, you're releasing him?"
"There's no evidence that Elena Reyes is dead. No body. No witnesses placing her anywhere near the apartment after that night. For all we know, she could have run off on her own."
"Run off?" Ethan's voice rises. "She didn't run off. She was beaten. She was bleeding. She had money for her scholarship and she was going to—"
"With respect, Mr. Miller, you don't know that. You weren't there."
"I know her! I've known her since we were children! She wouldn't just disappear without—"
"Without what? Calling you?"
The question hits him like a slap.
"She hasn't called," the officer continues. "Has she?"
Silence.
"That's what I thought. Look, if you have evidence that a crime was committed, real evidence, not just suspicion you can take it to the district attorney. But this is a small precinct. We don't have the resources for a missing person case with no body and no proof."
"She is missing! That's the definition of—"
The line goes dead.
Ethan stares at his phone.
They hung up on him.
He throws the phone onto his desk. Stands. Paces. His office feels smaller than it did an hour ago. The walls are closing in.
Elena has nowhere to run to except me. He knows this. He's always known this. Her father, the loan sharks, the bruises she hides, he's the only safe place she has.
So why hasn't she called?
He picks up his phone again. Dials her number.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
He tries again.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
His hand shakes.
He sits down heavily. Stares at the files on his desk. Cases he hasn't resolved. Clients waiting for answers. His whole l
ife, built on order and logic and the rule of law.
And none of it matters.
Because Elena is gone.
And he doesn't know how to find her.
He puts his head in his hands.
The city hums outside his window. Somewhere out there, she exists. Somewhere out there, she's alive. She has to be alive.
Elena, he thinks. Where are you?
His phone sits silent on the desk.
It doesn't ring.