The hospital smelled of antiseptic and sorrow.
Harvey lay still beneath the stiff white sheets, staring at the cracked ceiling tiles. The world outside the window was blurred by drizzle, city lights smearing like watercolor across glass. His body ached everywhere—his ribs wrapped tight in bandages, stitches pulling at his temple, his throat raw from smoke.
On the bedside table sat the silver watch. His father's. The face cracked, hands frozen at the moment of impact. It ticked faintly still, though Harvey couldn't tell if it was the watch or his mind filling the silence.
He closed his eyes, but behind them waited only flashes of the crash. His mother's scream. The spin of metal. The stranger's words.
This wasn't an accident.
The door creaked open.
Harvey's eyes snapped wide. A man stepped in, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the same long black coat as the night of the crash. The brim of his hat cast shadows across sharp features and eyes too calm for a hospital room.
Harvey sat up, pain flaring down his ribs. "You—" His voice cracked. "Who are you? Why were you at the crash?"
The man closed the door gently behind him, as if shutting out the world. "Call me Viktor."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Viktor crossed the room, pulled a chair close, and sat. His movements were measured, deliberate, like someone who never wasted energy. "I was there because I expected the attack. I was too late."
The words hit Harvey like a fresh blow. "You… knew?" His fists clenched around the sheets. "You knew and you didn't stop it?"
Viktor's gaze didn't waver. "If I had been seconds faster, maybe. But what's done is done." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "What matters now is this: the people who ordered it aren't finished. You survived. They won't allow that."
Harvey shook his head, unable to process. "Who? Why?"
Instead of answering, Viktor set a folder on his lap. The manila cover was worn, corners frayed, as if handled too many times. "Look."
Harvey hesitated, then flipped it open. Inside were photographs—faces in grainy surveillance shots, dossiers with names he didn't know. But then his stomach turned. One he did know.
"Aldrich?" The name stumbled from his lips like broken glass.
His family's lawyer. The man who had dined at their table. Who had gifted Harvey a fountain pen for his sixteenth birthday, shaking his hand like a proud uncle.
"No," Harvey whispered. "He wouldn't… He couldn't…"
"He did," Viktor said flatly. "Aldrich is more than a lawyer. He has ties to people who profit from power shifting hands. He betrayed your father for money, influence, and your family's fortune."
Harvey's chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, but the photographs showed Aldrich shaking hands with strangers in expensive suits. One showed him slipping into a black SUV—the same kind that had rammed their car.
His throat burned. "Why are you telling me this? Why do you care?"
Viktor leaned back, folding his hands. For the first time, Harvey noticed the scars running along his knuckles, pale lines etched from years of violence. "Because I've seen families destroyed like yours. I know the men who do it. And I know what it takes to burn them down."
"You want me to… what? Kill him?" Harvey's voice wavered between disbelief and anger.
"If you want justice, courts won't give it to you," Viktor said coldly. "Men like Aldrich own the courts. They own the police. They own silence. The only justice they understand is blood."
The room felt smaller. The walls pressed closer. Harvey's breath quickened, his heart pounding against the bandages. He wanted to scream at Viktor, to tell him he was wrong, to reject the knife being pressed into his hands with words. But deep down, something inside him stirred.
Something dark.
Before he could speak, Viktor's phone buzzed. He checked it, expression darkening. Slowly, he rose and crossed to the window. His hand twitched toward his coat.
"What is it?" Harvey asked.
"Confirmation," Viktor muttered. He pulled the curtain back with one finger. "They know you're alive."
Harvey frowned, confusion mixing with unease. "What do you mean—"
Then he saw them.
Figures scaling the hospital wall. Clad in black, masks hiding their faces, curved blades glinting as they caught the faint city glow. Silent, efficient, like predators in the night.
Harvey's stomach dropped.
The door slammed open at the same time. A third man rushed in, knife flashing.
Viktor moved like lightning. "Move, boy!" he barked, his voice cutting like a whip. "Or die where you lie!"
And the room erupted in chaos.