2025-02-07 00:37:49Walker sat by Elizabeth’s side, gripping her hand as if letting go would shatter her completely.
Her fingers trembled weakly in his grasp. Her lips parted, but her voice barely emerged. "They… they’re hiding… something…" Walker stiffened. "What?" he whispered, leaning in. "Lizzy, what are you talking about?" Her breath was shallow, her gaze unfocused yet terrified. Dr. Graham adjusted one of the machines, his movements precise—too precise. Walker’s eyes snapped to him. "What is she talking about?" Dr. Graham smiled, but it felt… wrong. Too measured. Rehearsed. "She’s disoriented," he said smoothly. "Not uncommon after severe blood loss." Walker’s grip tightened on Elizabeth’s hand. She wasn’t just delirious. She was afraid. Dr. Graham’s voice cut through his thoughts. "Your wife is unstable, but we’re doing everything we can." Then why did it feel like a bad dream? Nothing added up. "Stress can make things seem worse than they are," Dr. Graham continued, his tone too soothing, like a practiced script. "Why don’t you step out for some air? We’ll take care of her." Walker’s jaw clenched. "No. I’m staying right here." Dr. Graham exchanged a glance with the nurse—a silent conversation passing between them. "Very well," he said. "But remain calm. Your presence is only helpful if you’re composed." Walker didn’t buy it. Every fiber of his being screamed that something was deeply wrong. And he was going to find out what. "Can I see you in my office right now?" Dr. Graham’s voice was light, almost too polite. Walker hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Elizabeth’s side. The moment he stepped away, they could— "Doctor, I don't mind discussing it here," Walker said, voice firm. "Whatever it is." Dr. Graham exhaled through his nose, his lips twitching—almost like a smirk. "That’s against our policy. Once we’re done, you can return to her." Walker’s pulse pounded in his ears. "Doctor, I understand," he said slowly. "But she needs me now more than ever." Dr. Graham studied him for a long moment before turning on his heel and walking away. Walker watched him go, his suspicion growing like a storm cloud. "Why does he feel so... wrong?" Everything about Dr. Graham’s aura was off. He wasn’t just a big man—he was huge. Not in the way of a medical professional, but like a man trained for something else. Something darker. A bodybuilder could pass as a doctor. But Dr. Graham? He felt more like a guard. A warden. Walker swallowed hard. Elizabeth let out a soft whimper, drawing his attention back. He cupped her forehead with his palm—burning hot. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I won’t let anything happen to you, Lizzy. I swear." A deep voice sliced through the air. "Sir, you’re not allowed to do that." Walker turned. Dr. Graham was back, his expression unreadable. This time, he carried a white paper and a pen. Walker squared his shoulders. "She’s my wife." "I know," Dr. Graham said. "But her condition is critical, and she needs rest." Walker hesitated before loosening his grip. Dr. Graham motioned toward a quiet corner. "Please, let’s have a talk." Walker didn’t trust him—but refusing could make things worse. He followed the doctor, his senses sharp. Even as they walked, his eyes flicked around the hospital. Something wasn’t right. A nurse passed by carrying a small box—not quite a first-aid kit, but something close. Walker tracked her movements until she vanished past the elevator doors. Dr. Graham stopped beside a steel cabinet with drawers. Each drawer had something written on it, but Walker couldn’t read the labels. Dr. Graham placed the paper down. "You seem very… protective of your wife." Walker met his gaze. "She needs me." Dr. Graham’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Your name?" Walker hesitated. "Walker Steve." Dr. Graham jotted it down, his grip on the pen oddly tight. "And your wife’s?" Walker glanced at Elizabeth’s bed from across the room, uneasy. "Elizabeth Steve." Dr. Graham nodded slowly. "She lost a lot of blood." "I know." "She’s been scanned. We found a spinal fracture." Walker’s stomach clenched. "Is she…?" "We’re monitoring her condition," Dr. Graham cut in. "Now, tell me exactly what happened." Walker’s breath hitched. His eyes burned, but he forced himself to speak. He told him everything—where the accident happened, how it happened. For a brief moment, he thought he saw something flicker across Dr. Graham’s face. Something dark. Then it was gone. "When did you get married?" Dr. Graham asked. Walker blinked. "What?" "When did you get married?" His tone was eerily casual—like it was just another question. Like Walker’s personal life was some trivial detail, not the reality of his world falling apart. Walker’s patience snapped. "Doctor, was that necessary?" A slow, chilling smile stretched across Dr. Graham’s lips. "Walker, or whatever you call yourself…" His voice dropped, dangerously low. "You don’t come here to tell me how to do my job." Walker’s heart pounded. "Otherwise," Dr. Graham continued, "you can take your patient somewhere else." The words were calm. But the way he said them? Threatening. Walker forced himself to take a breath. He was on thin ice. "Okay, doctor," he murmured, glancing at his wristwatch. The red numbers glowed ominously. 4:00 AM. "Two days ago," he answered. Dr. Graham’s pen scratched across the paper. Walker watched him, every muscle in his body tense. Something was happening here. Something hidden beneath the surface. And he was going to find out what.
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Dawn of New Legends
Two weeks later, the warm Parisian sun filtered gently through the leafy canopies of the plane trees lining Place Dauphine. Their dappled shadows danced lazily across the cobblestones like delicate lacework. The square breathed with late-morning life—children laughing as they chased pigeons, the clatter of café cutlery, and the sweet, floating perfume of buttery pastries from corner bakeries.It was a perfect day. The kind that didn’t ask for anything except to be lived.Walker crouched beside a tiny red two-wheeler, his knees brushing the warm stone. The training wheels had come off this morning.Elizabeth held the bike steady by the handlebars, her knuckles white with gentle tension. Their son sat atop the seat, his feet just touching the pedals. His cheeks were flushed with anticipation; his eyes were wide, flickering between fear and wonder.“I’m right here,” Walker said, softly, firmly. “I’ve got you.”With a careful push, the bicycle began to roll forward. The wheels wobbled. Hi
Return to Paris
The sun was just peeking over the rooftops of Paris as Air France Flight AF022 touched down on the tarmac. Walker felt the cabin shift beneath him, the familiar hum a quiet anthem of homecoming. He’d flown alone—Svet had insisted on a separate exit—and now, through the oval window, he watched the Eiffel Tower’s silhouette cut through early morning mist.In the disembarkation corridor, Walker adjusted the strap of his duffel bag across his shoulder. His uniform of battered leather jacket and jeans marked him as a traveler, nothing more. He walked with purpose, heart hammering in time with his footsteps on the tile.At Customs, he bypassed the queue—Svet’s discreet pull strings at work—and stepped into the arrival hall. The air smelled of fresh pastries and motor oil, an odd but comforting mixture. He scanned the crowd, eyes flickering past bored tourists, anxious businessmen, until he found them: Elizabeth standing beside their son, little socks dangling as he shifted from foot to foot
Racing the Dawn
The dockyard slept beneath a heavy shroud of fog, crouching low at the water’s edge like a forgotten secret. It felt like the end of the world—quiet, cold, and waiting. Overhead, rusted cranes jutted into the night like broken fingers, frozen in time. Rows of shipping containers stretched into the mist like tombstones too weary to carry names.Svet’s SUV sat idle, tucked into shadow. Headlights off. Engine quiet.Inside, the air was dense. Heavy with tension. No one spoke.A small surveillance tablet flickered in Svet’s gloved hands. Onscreen, a woman in black slipped through the warehouse’s side entrance. Her silhouette cut through the gloom like a blade.Lisette.Oscar leaned forward, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and recognition.“I told you,” he whispered, eyes locked on the screen. “I know that walk.”Svet gave him a sidelong glance, tone low and deliberate.“She knows you. That’s leverage. Use it. Go in. Play dumb.”Oscar hesitated. His fingers curled into fists.
Eyes on the Warehouse
10:42 AM – Outskirts of El Rosado Industrial ZoneThe warehouse was quiet.Too quiet.From a distance, it looked abandoned—faded concrete walls and a rusted steel door chained halfway shut. But from Svet’s thermal drone feed, the building breathed with life: heat signatures moving inside, low-power lights glowing under the corrugated roof, and a vehicle that hadn’t been there fifteen minutes ago.Inside the black van parked across the street, the tension was thick.Walker sat shotgun, arms crossed. Behind him, Jett hunched over a tablet screen while Ramirez checked his pistol for the third time. Oscar was in the rear, silent, a knot forming in his jaw.Svet leaned against the wall inside the van, arms folded, eyes flicking between his phone and a small live-feed screen showing the warehouse entrance from multiple angles.“I’m going in,” he said finally.“You’re not going alone,” Walker replied, immediately.“You don’t even know what we’re walking into,” Svet countered without turning.
Blood Walks With Blood
The black SUV roared to life outside, rumbling with quiet intent. Svet stood by the open passenger door, already giving coded instructions into an earpiece, fingers drumming against the roof as his eyes scanned the eastern sky. It would be dusk in less than an hour.Inside the farmhouse, Walker grabbed his boots. Fast.He strapped his belt back on, holstered a sidearm from Svet’s emergency crate, and reached for the short-range comm.“You’re not going,” Jett said from the sofa, still bruised but sitting up straighter now.“He said ‘leave it to me.’ You know what that means in his tone.”Walker slid the magazine into the sidearm with a quiet click.“It means he’s about to disappear and handle it alone.” He stood. “Which I’m not letting happen.”Ramirez rose with a grimace. “You think we’re just going to lie here and wait to be updated like news readers?”Jett gave a weak laugh. “Speak for yourself, bro. I still can’t raise my left arm.”“You can still shoot with your right,” Walker s
The Detail Everyone Missed
The farmhouse was quiet.A long, rustic hallway separated the sleeping rooms from the kitchen where Svet sat, alone, turning a chipped mug in his hands. The coffee had gone cold, but he didn’t notice. His mind was elsewhere—spinning, mapping, drawing threads between events that hadn’t yet found a pattern.In the other room, Jett snored softly on the couch, feet over the armrest, shirt untucked and one eye half-open. Ramirez sat at the far end, sharpening a knife—not for battle, just for calm. Walker leaned against the window ledge, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.They hadn’t spoken much since the rescue. Cindy and Ava were still missing, and none of them had answers. They were grateful to be alive, yes—but breathing didn't mean peace.Then came the knock.Three short raps.Svet didn’t move.Walker opened the door.It was Oscar.Hair uncombed. Shirt wrinkled. But his eyes—those were alert. Like he hadn’t slept in days.“Mind if I come in?” he asked.Ramirez stared at him for a long mom
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