Nikolaos Drakos's condition worsened at dawn.
The call came while Alexandros was already awake, standing in his study, reviewing security reports from the night before. He answered on the first ring.
"His oxygen levels dropped suddenly," the doctor said. "We stabilized him, but… this decline is faster than expected."
Alexandros closed his eyes.
"I'll be there," he said.
The private medical wing smelled of antiseptic and quiet panic. Machines whispered around Nikolaos's bed, their steady rhythm betraying how fragile that steadiness truly was.
Seraphina stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind her back, eyes sharp and focused. She had arrived before Alexandros.
"You shouldn't be here," Alexandros said softly when he saw her.
"I needed to see him myself," she replied. "The reports don't tell the whole truth."
Nikolaos stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering.
"My son," he murmured.
Alexandros moved closer, taking his father's hand. "I'm here."
Nikolaos smiled faintly, then looked toward Seraphina. "You stayed."
"Yes," she said. "I did."
Nikolaos's gaze lingered on her, thoughtful. "Good. You have strong hands."
Seraphina swallowed.
Later, in the hallway, Alexandros turned to her.
"You saw something," he said. "I can tell."
"Yes," she admitted. "His current treatment is accelerating the damage."
Alexandros stiffened. "You're saying the doctors are wrong?"
"I'm saying someone designed this protocol to look correct while doing harm."
His jaw tightened. "Can you fix it?"
A pause.
"I believe so," she said carefully. "But I'll need full access. No oversight. No interference."
"That's a risk," he said.
"So is doing nothing."
He studied her face, searching for uncertainty.
There was none.
"You'll have everything you need," Alexandros said. "Whatever it costs."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
That afternoon, Seraphina worked alone in the secured lab beneath the house.
Nikolaos's data filled the screens—bloodwork, imaging, years of manipulated treatment records. The pattern was unmistakable now.
This wasn't a single crime.
It was a system.
Her hands trembled as she isolated the compound she had already tested in Zurich.
If she moved too fast, it could kill him.
If she waited, someone else would.
She closed her eyes, steadying herself.
"I won't fail you," she whispered.
Alexandros found the boy in the courtyard later, sitting quietly beneath an olive tree. A guard stood nearby, pretending not to watch.
The boy looked up when Alexandros approached.
"You don't like noise," Alexandros said.
No response.
"That's fine," he continued. "You don't have to talk."
The boy hesitated, then nodded once.
Alexandros sat beside him, resting his forearms on his knees.
"No one will take you from here," Alexandros said. "Not ever again."
The boy leaned closer, just a little.
Alexandros froze.
Then stayed exactly where he was.
Night fell heavy over the city.
Seraphina emerged from the lab long after midnight, exhaustion written into every step. She found Alexandros waiting outside the door.
"You should be sleeping," he said.
"So should you," she replied.
They stood in silence for a moment.
"I'm afraid," she admitted quietly. "Not of failing. Of succeeding too late."
Alexandros reached out, stopping just short of touching her arm.
"You won't be alone," he said.
Her voice shook. "You don't know that."
"I do," he replied. "Because if this destroys something, it will destroy me too."
The honesty in his voice stripped away her defenses.
"I wish I could tell you everything," she whispered.
"And I wish I didn't need to know," he said. "But we don't get what we wish for."
They stood close—too close—breathing the same air, tension thick and aching.
Then Seraphina stepped back.
"Tomorrow," she said. "I begin adjusting his treatment."
Alexandros nodded. " I will double security."
Elsewhere
A man watched live feeds of the Drakos estate.
"Dr. Cross is inside the inner perimeter now," someone reported.
"And Nikolaos?" the man asked.
"Declining."
The man smiled thinly.
"Good," he said. "Let her try to save him."
Back in Athens, Alexandros stood alone by the window of his study, watching the lights below.
Everything he valued was under his roof now.
His father.
The child.
The woman who was quietly becoming his anchor.
And that meant the war was no longer distant.
It was personal. It's time for them to see my other side now, play time is over.