I left. Walked out of the hospital into afternoon sun that felt wrong after two weeks of fluorescent lights. Got in my car. Drove to Ravenswood on autopilot.
Cal was awake. Talking. Himself.
The worst was over.
I could breathe again.
I returnedthe next morning to find Cal sitting up in bed, complaining about hospital food and demanding his phone so he could check on the investigation.
Adrian was already there, leaning against the window with his arms crossed, radiating the kind of controlled authority that made people nervous without him saying a word.
“No,” Adrian said, his voice flat and final. “You're recovering. The investigation is being handled.”
“By who?” Cal demanded.
“By people I trust. People who know what they're doing.” Adrian moved from the window with predatory grace. “You built the foundation. Three years of investigation, meticulous documentation. You did the hard work. Now let others execute it.”
“I need to know what's happening?—”
“You need to heal.” Adrian's tone left no room for argument. “Harrow's scrambling and making mistakes. My lawyers are building the case using your research. Everything's in motion. You don't need to micromanage.”
Cal opened his mouth to argue. Adrian's expression shifted, moving from firm to absolutely immovable—the look that made hardened criminals reconsider their life choices.
Cal closed his mouth.
“Good,” Adrian said. “Now. There are some things you need to know and some people you need to meet.” He pulled out his phone and sent a text. “I've been running an operation parallel to yours. Insurance. Protection. Building redundancy into the case in case Harrow managed to destroy your evidence.”
“What kind of operation?” I asked.
“Intelligence gathering. Asset protection. The kind of work that requires people with very specific skills.” Adrian pocketed his phone.
The door opened. Two people entered, a woman in her fifties and a man in his forties, both carrying themselves like people who had spent years in courtrooms.
Then a third person walked in.
Lori.
She leaned against the doorframe, dressed in black, her expression unreadable behind that familiar smirk.
Cal stared. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Working.” She pushed off the doorframe and moved into the room with unhurried ease. “Same as you. Different methods.”
“She's been working for me,” Adrian said, his voice calm and absolute. “For six months. Gathering intelligence on Harrow's network. Protecting my assets. Ensuring the investigation didn't get derailed by unfortunate accidents.”
“You hired an assassin,” I said flatly.
“I hired a professional. Someone capable of operating in spaces where conventional security fails, someone who understands that justice sometimes requires getting your hands dirty.”
“I'm very good at getting my hands dirty,” Lori added cheerfully.
Cal was still staring at her. “So Adrian was who you were working for. You've been watching us.”
“Yes. And I've been protecting you.” Lori pulled up a chair and sprawled in it. “Though yes, watching too. You're both very entertaining, especially when you argue.”
“Why didn't you tell us?” I demanded.
“Because you didn't need to know.” Adrian moved to stand beside Lori. “She's good at her job—exceptional, in fact, which is why I'm making this official.”
