The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Annalise was wheeled through the emergency doors. Nurses barked out orders, their shoes squeaking against polished floors. Blood had stained the sleeve of her blouse, and every second stretched out like glass about to shatter.
"BP dropping—get her into OR two!" a doctor shouted.
Han's footsteps echoed behind the gurney. He didn't realize his fists were balled so tightly until his nails dug crescents into his palms. Every stride was quicker, angrier, like if he kept moving fast enough, he could outpace the fear tightening around his ribs.
In the waiting area, Clyde stood frozen, knuckles white around his phone. His father's voice came through the line, steady but tense.
"Clyde, listen to me. Annalise will pull through. She's a fighter, just like her father was."
"You don't know that," Clyde snapped, his voice cracking before he could catch it. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "She's in there because of Carlos, because—because we didn't move fast enough."
A pause. Then Robert Maxwell's voice dropped lower, almost gentle.
"Your anger—it's exactly what Smith had when we were young. He would fight tooth and nail to protect his family, his friends, his company. And I swear to you, Clyde, I'll honor that. That man was my brother long before blood and business tied us together. I won't let Carlos win. Not now."
The words struck something in Clyde, grounding him just enough. His father wasn't just a CEO right now—he was a man remembering a promise made decades ago.
Back in the OR hallway, Han stopped outside the glowing red "surgery in progress" sign. He pressed his forehead against the cold wall. He could still see Annalise's pale face in the ambulance, could still hear her shallow breaths.
A nurse passed by, but Han barely noticed. What he did notice was movement—just at the edge of his vision.
A figure. Hood pulled low, blending into the shadows. They lingered longer than anyone should.
Han straightened immediately, the tension in his spine sharp as wire. "Hey—" he called, his voice echoing down the corridor.
But the figure turned the corner before he could get closer.
His jaw locked. He hated mysteries, and this one felt wrong. Not just someone wandering. Watching. Waiting.
Hours bled together. Clyde sat hunched in a plastic chair, his phone buzzing with unanswered calls. Rezi paced the corner of the room, her fingers worrying the bracelet around her wrist—the one she thought was from Clyde.
She caught him staring at it, finally holding it up with a shaky smile. "I... didn't get to thank you. For the gift. And the bear."
Clyde blinked. "What gift?"
"The bracelet." Rezi frowned, tilting her head. "You sent it, right? It had your name, your address. Who else would—"
Her voice faltered when Clyde's expression hardened. His stomach dropped like lead.
"Rezi." His tone was sharper now, urgent. "I didn't send you anything."
The bracelet suddenly felt heavier on her wrist, suffocating. Her hand trembled as she tore it off and let it fall to the floor. The metallic clink echoed like a gunshot.
[forcing a laugh, though her voice cracks] "Don't mess with me, Clyde. It had your handwriting on the note. Your name. Even your address. Who else would go through that much trouble?"
[steps forward, eyes narrowing] "That's exactly the problem, Rezi. Someone wanted you to think it was me."
[shakes her head, panic creeping in] "No. That... that doesn't make sense. Who would—why would anyone—"
[cuts her off, low voice, urgent] "Rezi. If I didn't send it, then whoever did knows where I live. They wanted you to let your guard down. To trust it. To trust me."
[her gaze flicks to the bracelet on the floor, her breathing uneven] "That means... it's not a gift. It's a warning."
[jaw tightens] "Or a trap." [pauses, softer now] "Rezi, has anything happened since you got it? Strange calls, messages, anyone following you?"
[hesitates, then whispers] "I... I thought I was imagining it. That night—when I left practice—I swear someone was behind me. I ran home so fast I didn't even look back."
[anger flickers in his eyes, but his voice stays steady] "You should've told me."
[defensive, her voice rising] "And say what, Clyde? That a bracelet and a stuffed bear freaked me out? That I'm losing it?" [her voice drops, trembling now] "I even thought... I even thought the teddy bear's eyes moved sometimes. Like it was watching me. But I ignored it—because I thought it was from you."
[freezes, his blood running cold, voice low but firm] "Rezi... that's not paranoia. That's surveillance."
[staring at him, horrified] "You mean... someone's been watching me? Through the bear?"
[steps closer, protective energy radiating now] "Yeah. And if that's true, then whoever sent it isn't just playing games—they're already inside your life. And I'm not letting them get anywhere near you again.
Meanwhile, Robert Maxwell sat in his own office, papers spread across his desk. The faces of trusted employees stared back at him from surveillance reports. Somewhere inside his company, someone was leaking information straight into Carlos' hands.
He tapped the edge of a photograph of Smith Leamington, smiling in a high school soccer uniform. "Don't worry, old friend," Robert murmured. "Your daughter won't fight this battle alone."
On the other side of the city, Carlos leaned back in his leather chair. The glow from the desk lamp carved his face into sharp shadows.
Two men stood before him, waiting like statues.
Carlos lit a cigar, exhaling smoke with deliberate slowness. "They think they can box me in," he muttered, a smirk curling. "Annalise, Robert Maxwell, their allies—they believe loyalty wins wars. Fools."
He set the cigar down and leaned forward, eyes gleaming with malice.
"Set the plan in motion. Tonight. Let's see how they survive this."