Chapter 27 Chapter 27

Chapter 27 Chapter 27
Elara’s POV. 

There was nothing but a high-resolution camera blinking red in the corner like a vulture in the observation room. 

I paced the six-foot length of the floor, counting the seconds between the nurse’s rounds. Three minutes for the hall check. Ten minutes for the medication cart to rattle past.

The door swished open. A nurse I didn't recognize, stepped in holding a small paper cup.

"Time for your afternoon dose, Elara," she said, her voice a flat. "Chlorpromazine. It’ll help with the agitation."

"I’m not agitated," I said, my voice low. "And I’m not taking a Class IV sedative while pregnant. It crosses the placental barrier. You know that."

"Doctor’s orders," she replied, stepping closer. "Refusal is noted as a symptom of non-compliance and paranoia."

"Then bring me the doctor," I said, sitting on the edge of the cot. "If Silas wants me drugged into a stupor, I want him to sign the liability waiver in front of me. Otherwise, get that cup out of my sight before I document your breach of maternal-fetal ethics."

She turned and left without another word.

Silas Vane didn't wait for the nurse to brief him. He walked in ten minutes later, his charcoal suit looking wildly out of place. 

"Refusing medication, Elara?" Silas asked, leaning against the doorframe. "That’s going to look very dark in the morning report. 'Patient displays aggressive resistance to standard care’.”

"Standard care doesn't involve chemical restraints for a stable woman," I said. "You're slipping, Silas. You're getting sloppy with the gaslighting."

He walked toward me, his eyes fixed on my face. "Let’s talk about stability. Let’s talk about your father. Do you remember the night the police took him? The way he was screaming about the shadows in the walls? You were what, seven? Eight?"

I felt the phantom ache of that memory, but I didn't blink. 

"He loved you, in his own fractured way," Silas continued, his voice dropping to a sympathetic hum. "But he saw things that weren't there. And now, you’re in a house where men get shot over dinner. You’re telling people that the police are out to get you. The shadows haven't changed, Elara. Only the names you give them."

"You’re not evaluating me, Silas," I said quietly, standing up to meet his gaze. "You’re building a narrative. You’re trying to trigger a panic attack so the camera can record me 'spiraling.' But I know the DSM-5 better than you do. I know exactly what a manic episode looks like, and this isn't it."

Silas smiled. A sharp, jagged flash of his teeth. "That’s what medicine is, Elara. It’s not science. It’s a story the court believes. And I am a very, very good storyteller."

"You’re a parasite," I said. "You’re using Julian’s guilt to buy yourself a seat at the Syndicate table. But you forgot one thing."

"And what’s that?"

"I’m not trapped in here with you," I whispered. "You’ve invited a doctor into your lab. And I’ve already started the autopsy on your career."

Silas chuckled, checking his watch. 

"Seventy-two hours, Elara. By the time you get out, Dante will be in a cell, and your father’s records will be on the front page of the Times. Sleep well."

He left, and the silence returned. I waited for the shift change. At 7:00 PM, the door opened again. A different nurse stepped in to check my vitals. She was older, with tired eyes and a smudge of blue ink on her thumb.

I froze when I saw her name tag. Nurse Miller. No relation to the detective, but I knew that face.

"Blood pressure check," she muttered, wrapping the cuff around my arm.

"St. Jude’s Emergency Room," I whispered, my heart racing. "Two years ago. New Year’s Eve. A hit-and-run victim with a crushed pelvis and a ruptured spleen."

She stopped pumping the bulb. She looked at me, her eyes widening.

"You were the surgical intern," she whispered. "The one who stayed in the OR for twelve hours when the attending walked out."

"I saved your brother’s life that night, Sarah," I said, leaning in so the camera wouldn't catch my lips moving. "I need you to do something. For a colleague."

Sarah looked at the camera, then back at me. She looked terrified, but she didn't pull away. "What do you need?"

"There’s a burner phone in the staff lounge. Dante Moretti’s private number is programmed into the emergency bypass," I said. "Tell him two words: 'She's fine.' And give him one name. Silas Vane."

Sarah’s hands shook as she loosened the cuff. "If they find out I helped you—"

"If you don't help me, Silas is going to kill a child," I said. "Please."

She nodded once, tucked her clipboard under her arm, and hurried out of the room.

The red light of the security camera was a tiny, unblinking eye that never let me go. I sat on the edge of the cot, my hands resting on the slight curve of my stomach, counting my own heartbeats to keep the time. 

I knew Silas was coming back. Men like him can’t help themselves; they need to witness the breakdown to feel the victory.

The door swished open. Silas walked in.

"The sedative should have taken hold by now, Elara," he said, checking his watch. "You’re fighting the chemistry. That's admirable, but ultimately futile."

"You underestimated my metabolism," I said, my voice raspy but steady. "And you underestimated the nurse you sent in here. Sarah remembers the night I saved her brother’s life. She didn't give me the dose."

Silas froze. The polite, empathetic mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing an expression of irritation. 

"You managed to get loyalty from my staff. How quaint. It won't matter. The National Guard is currently establishing a perimeter outside. By midnight, you’ll be transferred to a private facility upstate. One where I am the only board member."

"You think you can just kidnap a person?"

"I'm not kidnapping you," Silas said, stepping closer. "I’m 'preserving' a specimen. The Moretti bloodline is a violent infection in this city, but the child you're carrying? Combined with your genetic resilience? That’s a legacy worth rehabilitating under my guidance. Dante is a relic. He'll be dead or in a cage by morning. I’m simply choosing who inherits the future."

"He's coming for me, Silas."

"Let him," Silas whispered. "I’ve told the Guard that a high-risk terrorist is attempting to breach the psychiatric wing to execute a witness. They have orders to use lethal force. If Dante Moretti steps onto these grounds, he’s a dead man."

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and Elara? Don't bother screaming. The walls here were designed to contain much louder sounds than yours."

The door clicked shut. 

I was alone. I leaned my head against the cold wall and closed my eyes. 

“Dante, please.” I whispered into the empty room. 

Then, it happened.

All the lights, including the red dot from the camera, went off.

Beyond my door, I heard the sudden, panicked shouting of people in the hallway. 

I sat up in the pitch black. My heart was thumping against my ribs.

THUD.

It came from the floor below. It was the sound of a pressurized door being forced open.

THUD-CRACK.

It was closer now. 

Someone screamed, a short, sharp sound that was abruptly cut off.

I walked to the door and pressed my ear against the cold metal.

It was silent at first. Then, a voice came, loud and filled with rage.

"Clear the floor. Anyone in a white coat gets a zip-tie. Anyone with a badge gets a bullet. Find my wife."

I leaned my forehead against the door, a jagged, hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. 

The blackout, the dead grid, the total collapse of Silas’s ‘protocol’, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

"Dante," I whispered to the dark.

The magnetic lock on my door clicked open instantly, revealing his silhouette. 

He didn't say a word. He stepped into the room, shoved the gun into his holster, and pulled me into a grip so tight I could feel the cold metal of his gun pressing into my skin.

"Did he touch you?" Dante rasped, his voice vibrating against my ear.

"No," I breathed, clutching his jacket. "He's upstairs. In the office."

Dante pulled back just enough to look at me, he reached up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

"Stay behind me," he ordered. "Lorenzo and Marco are holding the stairwell. We’re leaving."

"Not yet," I said, grabbing his wrist. "Silas has the original warrant files. The ones Miller used. If we leave without them, all this would be for nothing."

Dante looked toward the hallway, looked back at me and nodded.

"Fine," he said, drawing his weapon again. "We'll go to the office. But if I see him, Elara….the devil better prepare a room."