Isabella slept in a guest room with the door slightly open. He instructed staff to make sure she felt safe. She slept clutching a pillow like a shield.
He didn’t sleep at all.
Within forty-eight hours, confirmation arrived. The facility existed. Funded through shell nonprofits tied discreetly to Orion Holdings. Legally immaculate on paper.
Morally rotten.
The operation happened at night.
No press.
No official announcements.
Just fog rolling down mountain roads and black SUVs moving without headlights for the final stretch.
Alexander refused to stay behind.
When the steel doors opened, the smell hit him first—chemical disinfectant mixed with something stale and human.
Then he saw her.
Emily.
Sitting on a narrow bed. Hair cut short. Face thinner. But unmistakably her.
For a second, she stared as if he were a hallucination.
“Alexander?” she whispered.
The sound of his name in her voice shattered something inside him.
He crossed the room in three steps and fell to his knees in front of her.
“I’m here,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m here.”