Chapter 106
Nora's POV
The plane touched down at Aetheria International just after ten in the morning. I'd left Silverton before dawn, catching the first flight out, and now exhaustion pulled at my bones as I made my way through the terminal.
Aetheria sprawled beneath a pale winter sky, all gleaming glass towers and monuments to power.
I hailed a cab outside the arrivals terminal, giving the driver the cemetery's address. He nodded without comment and pulled into traffic.
The drive took forty minutes, the cityscape gradually giving way to quieter suburbs and then to the manicured green spaces on the outskirts. Springwood Memorial Gardens rose on a gentle hill, its iron gates standing open in silent welcome.
Dad had been laid to rest here after his death. The union had arranged it—one of their own, they'd said, a hero of the labor movement who deserved to be remembered among the honored dead. They'd praised his sacrifice, held vigils, given speeches about his courage in standing up to corporate greed.
At the time, their words had felt hollow. Now, years later, they just felt distant.
I paid the driver and stepped out, white lilies clutched in one hand.
Dad's plot was in the quieter section, up a gentle slope where the old oaks provided shade even in winter. As I crested the hill, I spotted the headstone and stopped short.
Red carnations lay against the marble, their color vivid and fresh.
Someone had been here recently.
I knelt beside the grave, setting my lilies next to the carnations, and studied the photograph embedded in the stone. The features I remembered, strong and determined, his gray-blue eyes—so much like mine—staring directly at the camera with that mix of warmth and steel I remembered so well.
"Hey, Daddy," I said softly, my fingers tracing the engraved letters of his name. "I'm here."
"Nora, baby, Daddy loves you," his voice echoed in my memory, so clear it made my chest ache. I was maybe seven or eight, curled in his lap after a nightmare. "Remember this—fighting for what's right is never something to be ashamed of. Never."
I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat.
I let the quiet settle around me. A breeze rustled through the oak leaves, carrying the scent of earth and grass.
I remembered Dad's funeral—this entire hillside had been covered in flowers, an ocean of color and sympathy. Politicians, union leaders, activists, reporters—everyone had come to pay their respects to David Grey, the man who'd stood up for workers' rights and paid the ultimate price.
Years later, the flowers had dwindled to these few bouquets. The crowds were long gone. The politicians had moved on to newer causes, the union leaders to other battles. Even the reporters who'd covered his story with such fervor had found different injustices to expose.
Just like the coverage itself—front page news for a week, maybe two. Then buried in the archives, forgotten by everyone except the people who'd loved him.
Was it worth it, Dad? I thought, staring at his photograph. Was fighting for those strangers worth leaving Mom and me behind?
Every time I came here, the answer became more blurred and harder to accept.
Maybe idealism was just another word for foolishness. Maybe the only people who really benefited from noble sacrifices were the ones writing the eulogies.
I touched my fingers to Dad's name. "I love you. I'll come back soon."
The journey back felt longer than the way there. By the time I reached the entrance, the earlier sunshine had been replaced by overcast skies.
Traffic near the cemetery exit was starting to back up. Vehicles inched forward, brake lights flickering red in the dim light.
I pulled my jacket tighter against the wind, watching my breath mist in the cold air.
Dust kicked up from the road, making me squint. Just as I was about to pull out my phone to check the weather report, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.
"Nora?"
I turned sharply, my heart doing a strange skip-jump in my chest.
Julian sat in the black Navigator, window down, those silver-gray eyes fixed on me.
Why is he here?
"Nora?" His voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "What are you doing here?"
I walked toward him. "I could ask you the same thing."
He pushed open the rear door without answering. I hesitated for only a second before climbing in.
"I was visiting someone," he said finally. "A friend."
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
I understood that weight. "I was visiting my father."
Something shifted in his expression.
"Your father would be proud of the woman you've become."
My throat tightened. "I'm not sure about that."
"I am." His hand wrapped around mine. "You fight for people who have no voice. That takes the kind of courage most people never find."
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing the tears back. The warmth of his palm felt like an anchor. Then I noticed the driver's partition was still down, someone's head visible through the glass.
Julian followed my gaze and smiled slightly. Without releasing my hand, he pressed a button. The privacy screen rose smoothly, enclosing us in silence.
"Better?"
I nodded. His thumb traced circles against my knuckles, neither of us speaking.
"When do you fly back?" he asked.
"This afternoon. Two o'clock flight."
His jaw tightened. "You look exhausted."
I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip held firm. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He shifted toward me. "Lean on me."
"Julian—"
"That wasn't a request, Nora." Authority and tenderness mixed in his voice. "You're about to fall asleep sitting up."
Pride warred with exhaustion. Exhaustion won. I let myself lean sideways, my head coming to rest against his solid, warm shoulder.
"Just for a minute," I mumbled.
"Take as long as you need." His hand cradled the back of my head, fingers gentle in my hair.
In this suspended state, my defenses crumbled. "Do you think I'm suited for this? For reporting?"
His hand stilled. "Why would you ask that?"
"Because I feel too much. When I see cases—families destroyed—it gets under my skin. My old supervisor said high empathy is a liability."
Silence stretched. Then: "That supervisor was an idiot."
I huffed a surprised laugh.
"Empathy isn't a weakness, Nora. It's the entire point. Reports without humanity are just data. It takes someone with a heart to see the people behind the numbers." His lips brushed the top of my head—not quite a kiss. "Don't doubt your calling because someone else couldn't see its value. You matter."
The certainty in his voice cracked something open in my chest.
I drifted into darkness with exhaustion and tears.