2025-12-24 16:41:36The night nurse spoke softly, as if raising her voice might worsen Lyra’s condition.
“She’s stable for now,” she said, adjusting the IV line. “But her vitals are… delicate.”
Delicate. Caelan hated that word. It sounded like something that could be fixed with care and patience. Like porcelain. Like glass.
Lyra stared as the nurse left, her eyelids fluttering open.
“Daddy?” she murmured.
He was at her side instantly. “I’m here.”
Her fingers curled weakly around his sleeve. “Did I scare you again?”
He forced a smile. “You always scare me. Ever since the day you decided to be born early.”
She smiled faintly at that. “Mom said I was impatient.”
The word mom landed heavier than it should have.
“You should sleep,” he said gently.
She nodded, then hesitated. “Daddy… if I don’t get better…”
He leaned closer. “You will.”
“But if I don’t,” she whispered stubbornly, “will you still come tell me stories?”
His throat tightened. “I’ll tell them until you’re sick of hearing my voice.”
“That’ll take forever,” she said, satisfied, and drifted back to sleep.
Caelan stayed long after the monitors settled into a steady rhythm. Around him, machines beeped and hummed, artificial life supporting fragile flesh. He realized then that this place was not built for hope, only for delay.
Caelan learned two things before noon.
First, Lyra’s condition had improved just enough to draw attention.
Second, attention was never neutral.
The morning rounds were different. Nurses lingered longer. A senior physician he hadn’t seen before reviewed Lyra’s chart twice, frowning in concentration.
“She’s responding better than expected,” the doctor said. “Stability like this… it’s unusual.”
Caelan kept his expression neutral. “Is that bad?”
The doctor hesitated. “Not bad. Just… surprising.”
Surprising was dangerous.
By midday, Selene returned.
This time, she didn’t come alone.
The man beside her wore an expensive charcoal suit and the kind of smile that never reached the eyes. He looked around the hospital room as if it were something mildly inconvenient, like traffic or bad weather.
“Caelan,” Selene said, composed as ever. “This is Mr. Harlan Veyne.”
The name landed with quiet weight.
Veyne.
One of the old elite families. Not the oldest, but ambitious, ruthless, and rapidly ascending. The kind that swallowed others whole and called it progress.
Harlan inclined his head slightly. “So this is you.”
Caelan didn’t offer his hand.
“I wasn’t aware that Lyra's condition required spectators,” Caelan said.
Selene’s lips tightened. “He’s here to help.”
Harlan chuckled. “Let’s not pretend this is charity.”
He stepped closer to Lyra’s bed, studying her like a problem to be solved. “The girl’s prognosis is… unfortunate. But not unsalvageable.”
Caelan’s jaw tightened. “Then speak plainly.”
Harlan smiled wider. “I like that. Straightforward men are rare these days.”
He glanced at Selene. She nodded once.
“I can secure access to the facility you need,” Harlan continued. “Fast-track approval. Top-tier specialists.”
Caelan didn’t breathe.
“And the price?” he asked.
Harlan tilted his head. “Your signature.”
Selene produced the divorce papers from her bag with smooth efficiency.
“You step aside,” Harlan said calmly. “No claims. No interference. No… inconvenient past resurfacing.”
Caelan looked at Selene. “You planned this.”
She met his gaze without shame. “I ensured leverage.”
Lyra stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent.
Caelan stepped closer to her bed, instinctively placing himself between her and them.
“You don’t get to bargain with her life,” he said quietly.
Harlan’s smile thinned. “You misunderstand. I already am.”
The system pulsed.
Not a command.
A prompt.
First Obstacle Identified: Coercive Authority
Outcome Options Available
Caelan felt it, an invisible weight pressing against his awareness, urging decision.
He ignored it.
“I need time,” he said.
Harlan laughed outright. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”
“Then you can leave,” Caelan replied evenly.
The room went still.
Selene stared at him, incredulous. “Are you insane?”
“Possibly,” Caelan said. “But I won’t sign this.”
Harlan studied him for a long moment.
“Interesting,” he said finally. “You know, men like you usually fold faster.”
“Men like me?” Caelan echoed.
“Men without backing,” Harlan clarified. “Without a name.”
The system flickered again.
Authority Challenge Detected
Caelan felt something stir—not power, but recognition. As if the world itself were watching to see whether he would bow.
He straightened.
“My name,” he said, “is irrelevant to you.”
Harlan raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Caelan said calmly. “Because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already fear what happens if I don’t comply.”
The words surprised even him.
Selene’s eyes narrowed.
Harlan laughed softly. “Bold. Reckless. I see why you were removed.”
Removed.
There it was.
Harlan leaned closer. “Sign the papers, and your daughter lives comfortably. Refuse, and we see how long this ‘stability’ lasts.”
Caelan looked down at Lyra.
Her fingers curled weakly around the blanket.
He exhaled slowly.
“Get out,” he said.
Selene stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
Harlan’s smile vanished.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” Caelan agreed. “But it’s mine.”
Silence stretched.
Then Harlan stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. “Very well.”
He turned to Selene. “We tried.”
Selene’s voice was sharp. “You’re condemning her.”
Caelan didn’t look at her. “No. I’m refusing to sell her.”
They left.
The door closed.
The room felt smaller.
The system activated again—this time without asking.
Obstacle Outcome: Partial Defiance
Authority Established: Minimal
Visibility Increased
Caelan sank into the chair beside Lyra’s bed.
His heart pounded.
He had no plan.
No money.
No allies.
Only borrowed time.
First Reward Granted
A single line appeared.
Skill Unlocked: Insight (Passive)
Effect: Perceive Intent, Detect Falsehoods (Low Tier)
Caelan blinked.
He felt no surge. No rush.
Only clarity.
The door opened.
A nurse stepped in, smiling politely but something felt off.
“You’ll need to move rooms,” she said. “Orders from administration.”
Caelan’s new awareness stirred.
Falsehood.
“Why?” he asked.
The nurse hesitated just a fraction too long.
“Standard procedure,” she said.
The system pulsed faintly.
Intent Detected: External Pressure
Caelan stood.
“No,” he said calmly. “We’re staying.”
The nurse frowned. “Sir—”
“I’ll speak to the administrator myself,” he said. “Now.”
The nurse swallowed. “I’ll… check.”
She left hurriedly.
Caelan sat back down, heart racing.
This wasn’t strength.
It was resistance.
But resistance was a start.
Lyra shifted, eyes fluttering open.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Did the bad people leave?”
He smiled gently. “Yes.”
“Good,” she murmured. “I don’t like them.”
He squeezed her hand. “Neither do I.”
Outside the room, unseen eyes watched.
And somewhere far above, the elite began to ask a dangerous question:
Why hadn’t Caelan Ashborne broken yet?
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CHAPTER 10
The hospital corridor smelled like antiseptic and old paint, the kind that clung to your clothes long after you left. Caelan had been pacing it for nearly an hour, counting the tiles without realizing he’d started. White. Off-white. Cracked. White again. Somewhere between the third lap and the fourth, his phone vibrated.He didn’t look at it immediately.Hope had become a fragile thing, a thin glass, easily shattered. He let the phone vibrate itself into silence before finally stopping near the window at the end of the corridor. Outside, the city moved on. Cars honked. A street vendor laughed too loudly. Life, uninterrupted. Moving. The phone vibrated again. This time, he answered.“Yes?” His voice sounded calm, even to himself.“Mr. Hale,” the doctor said. “We’ve finalized the panel.”Caelan closed his eyes.“I’m coming,” he said, already knowing there was nothing more to discuss.The consultation room was too small for news like this. The doctor sat opposite him, tablet in hand, ex
CHAPTER 9
The ally did not arrive with fanfare.He arrived with a cup of bad coffee and a familiar voice Caelan hadn’t heard in years.“Still allergic to sleeping, I see.”Caelan froze.He turned slowly.The man leaning against the doorframe wore a rumpled jacket, his hair threaded with early gray, eyes sharp behind tired humor.“Jax,” Caelan said.Jax Calder grinned. “Took you long enough to reappear.”For a moment, Caelan simply stared. The past rushed in uninvited—late nights, shared secrets, quiet escapes from places that no longer existed.“You shouldn’t be here,” Caelan said finally.“Neither should you,” Jax replied. “Yet here we both are.”Lyra shifted in her sleep. Jax’s expression softened immediately. “That her?” he asked quietly.Caelan nodded.Jax exhaled through his nose. “Damn.”They spoke in the hallway.“You set off half the registry alarms in the city,” Jax said, sipping his coffee. “Council clerks are panicking. Old men are pretending they aren’t.”“I didn’t know you still l
CHAPTER 8
The call came just before dawn. Caelan was half-awake, slumped in the chair beside Lyra’s bed, when his phone vibrated against his thigh. For a moment, he considered ignoring it. Nothing good arrived before sunrise.Then he saw the caller ID.Central Review Council — Provisional OfficeHe answered.“This is Caelan Ashborne.”A woman spoke—older, her voice composed but carrying a weight that suggested authority earned rather than granted.“Mr. Ashborne,” she said. “This is Councilor Mira Ellowen. You’ve triggered a dormant registry review.”“I’m aware,” Caelan replied.“Then you’re also aware,” she continued, “that your name was removed for reasons that were never made public.”“Yes.”“That secrecy protected you,” Ellowen said. “And others.”Caelan said nothing.“You’ve forced our hand,” she went on. “The council will convene an internal inquiry within forty-eight hours. Until then, your claim exists in a suspended state.”“Meaning?” Caelan asked.“Meaning,” Ellowen said calmly, “you a
CHAPTER 7
Nothing happened.That was the first thing Caelan noticed.No alarms. No sudden arrests. No dramatic confrontation. The hospital lights steadied. The machines continued their quiet rhythm. Lyra slept on, unaware that a line had been crossed somewhere far beyond these walls.For a brief, dangerous moment, Caelan wondered if he’d imagined it all.Then his phone vibrated.Once.Twice.He didn’t answer immediately. He sat still, watching Lyra breathe, grounding himself in something real before facing whatever came next.When he finally looked, there were three missed calls.Two unknown numbers.One he recognized.His father’s old family office.His throat tightened.That number hadn’t appeared on his phone in over a decade.The call came again.Caelan stepped into the hallway before answering.“Yes?” he said quietly.There was a pause on the other end. Then an unfamiliar voice—measured, professional, faintly incredulous.“Caelan Ashborne,” the man said. “This is Archivist Rowan Hale, Cent
CHAPTER 6
The hospital’s administrative wing was colder than the rest of the building.Not physically, emotionally.Here, grief didn’t cry. It queued.Caelan stood in line clutching a folder thick with forms he barely understood. Insurance statements. Payment breakdowns. Consent documents written in language that protected institutions, not people.When it was his turn, the clerk barely looked up.“Coverage doesn’t include experimental procedures,” she said, fingers already moving toward the next file.“There has to be something,” Caelan insisted. “A program. A deferment.”She sighed, finally meeting his eyes with a look that suggested she’d done this too many times to feel anything about it. “Sir, I understand this is difficult.”No, he thought. You don’t.“This is the best we can offer,” she continued, sliding a paper toward him. “Palliative support.”He stared at the word until it blurred.Outside the office, a child laughed. The sound echoed down the corridor like an accusation.Caelan lean
CHAPTER 5
The night nurse spoke softly, as if raising her voice might worsen Lyra’s condition.“She’s stable for now,” she said, adjusting the IV line. “But her vitals are… delicate.”Delicate. Caelan hated that word. It sounded like something that could be fixed with care and patience. Like porcelain. Like glass.Lyra stared as the nurse left, her eyelids fluttering open.“Daddy?” she murmured.He was at her side instantly. “I’m here.”Her fingers curled weakly around his sleeve. “Did I scare you again?”He forced a smile. “You always scare me. Ever since the day you decided to be born early.”She smiled faintly at that. “Mom said I was impatient.”The word mom landed heavier than it should have.“You should sleep,” he said gently.She nodded, then hesitated. “Daddy… if I don’t get better…”He leaned closer. “You will.”“But if I don’t,” she whispered stubbornly, “will you still come tell me stories?”His throat tightened. “I’ll tell them until you’re sick of hearing my voice.”“That’ll take f
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