The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the hospital window, casting a pale gold light across the tiled floor. Agnes hadn't slept. Her eyes were puffy, her fingers cold despite the warm blanket draped around her shoulders. Mike sat beside her, staring at the heart monitor beeping steadily beside Danika's bed. The machine's rhythm echoed in the room like a ticking clock, every beat marking the seconds they were still tethered to hope.
Danika remained unconscious.
A nurse entered quietly, checked the IV fluids, and whispered something Agnes didn't quite hear. Mike thanked the nurse and returned to his seat, his hand reaching for Danika's but stopping midway—then retracting as if her skin might burn him.
"She'll wake up," Agnes said finally.
Mike didn't answer. He just stared, his jaw clenched, his body wound tight like a bowstring.
Agnes turned toward him. "You're blaming yourself, aren't you?"
Mike let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. "How can I not?"
"You didn't ask for any of this to happen."
"She was trying to protect me. Protect us. And now she's lying here because of me. Because I couldn't protect her."
Agnes shook her head. "She made her own choices, Mike. Just like you're making yours now."
Mike turned to her. "Are you staying?"
"I'm not leaving until she opens her eyes."
He nodded slowly. The silence between them grew heavier, filled with everything they didn't say. Forgiveness. Grief. Fear.
Elsewhere, in a narrow apartment in Mushin
Lance sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes. The TV buzzed in the background with muted sound. Headlines scrolled across the screen—Political scandal deepens… Iroko family embroiled in public outrage… He ignored them.
In his hand was a letter. Not printed. Handwritten.
He read it again. It was from his mother.
"My son,
If you are reading this, it means you found the box. There are things you need to know—things I kept from you not because I didn't love you, but because I didn't know how to protect you from them…"
The words blurred. He blinked, but the tears came anyway.
Lance had always imagined he was a misfit, a lone ember flickering on the edge of someone else's fire. But in this letter, his mother revealed the truth. His father hadn't died. He had disappeared during a political purge orchestrated by none other than Tunde Iroko's predecessor.
"Your father tried to expose something. Something powerful. He was silenced before he could speak."
Lance folded the letter slowly. The room felt colder now, the old secrets creeping into his skin.
He picked up his phone.
"Ghost, it's me. I need access to something buried in the National Records Database. Top-level clearance."
"Are you sure?" the voice replied.
"Dead sure."
In the Governor's Mansion
Tunde Iroko stood by the window of his private study. Outside, protestors had started to gather again. Their chants were muted by glass, but he could feel their rage. Their noise had a pulse of its own.
His assistant entered, pale and nervous.
"Sir, the media is demanding a statement. About the incident with Danika, and… and the claims surfacing about the Loyalty Game."
Tunde turned, eyes dark. "There's no 'incident.' There's no game. There's only spin. Find me a way to control the narrative."
The assistant nodded and rushed out.
Alone again, Tunde sat down and opened his drawer. Inside was an old photo—him, Danika, and her mother. A younger, gentler man smiled back at him from the past.
He closed the drawer slowly. That man was gone.
Hospital – Two Days Later
Danika stirred.
It started with a twitch of her fingers, then her eyelids fluttered. Agnes was the first to notice, leaping from her seat.
"Mike!"
He rushed in from the hallway, where he'd been pacing.
Danika's eyes opened, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening. She blinked at the ceiling, then turned to the voices.
"Agnes?" she whispered. Her voice was paper-thin.
Agnes clutched her hand. "You're safe. You're okay."
Danika turned her head, wincing slightly, and saw Mike. Their eyes met.
"I thought… I thought I was drowning," she said.
"You came back," Mike whispered, voice breaking.
"I always come back to you."
He broke down then, lowering his head to her hand, kissing it, holding it like it was the last lifeline he'd ever know.
Later that evening
Danika sat up in bed, still weak but stable. Agnes and Mike had left for a moment to get food. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
She heard a knock.
It was the Oracle.
Wrapped in her dark shawl, eyes deep as midnight, she entered without waiting for permission.
"You saw the threshold," the Oracle said.
Danika nodded. "And the fire. And the child in the water."
"You've crossed into something few return from unchanged. Your blood has marked a path. And now, others will follow it."
Danika frowned. "What are you saying?"
"Loyalties have shifted. The child's soul cries for peace. And your name… your name will be written in water and fire both."
Before Danika could reply, the Oracle left.
Outside the hospital, lightning split the sky.
In a secret studio apartment
Lance paced. Ghost's image flickered across the screen—glitched, but focused.
"I found the files," Ghost said. "You're not gonna like this."
"Show me."
A grainy video played. Black and white footage. A younger Tunde Iroko in a closed-door meeting with military personnel. A younger version of Lance's father beside him—animated, pointing at documents.
The audio was distorted, but the words "experiment," "cover-up," and "loyalty restructuring" were clear.
The footage ended.
"That's why they erased him," Lance whispered.
"And why they want to silence you," Ghost said. "You're the last thread of his legacy. You dig too deep, you're next."
Lance stared at the screen. "Then let's burn the whole damn tapestry."
Back at the hospital
Agnes sat alone in the corridor, phone pressed to her ear.
"Yes, I understand… Geneva's timeline can't wait much longer. But… there's been a complication."
She listened, tears rising.
"No. No, I want the position. I just—just give me a few more days."
She hung up and buried her face in her hands.
Danika was alive, but everything else was unraveling.
Nightfall
Mike sat beside Danika again, holding her hand. She was asleep now. Peaceful. But his mind churned.
Tunde was still pulling strings. The Loyalty Game's consequences weren't over. And something deeper—darker—was waiting beneath the surface.
He knew now. They weren't fighting just for love anymore.
They were fighting for truth.
To Be Continued…