Ethan.
“I saw the news,” he said. “And I knew something wasn’t right. Are you okay?”
No curiosity. No gossip. No judgment. Only concern.
For the first time since everything began, Amara answered honestly.
“No.”
Another pause.
“Good,” Ethan said. “Then I’m coming over.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” he said gently. “And I will.”
An hour later, the gates opened and a sleek black car rolled into the compound.
Amara stood in the doorway as Ethan stepped out.
He had changed. Broader shoulders. Sharper features. A steadier kind of confidence. But his eyes were the same—calm, observant, the kind that always seemed to see more than others did.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he said, softly, “Hi.”
She let out a breath. “Hi.”
In the sitting room, they sat facing each other beneath soft lighting and carefully arranged silence.
“You always disappear when things get hard,” Ethan said at last.
The words were familiar, not accusing.
Amara gave a tired laugh. “And you always find me.”
Something shifted.
She told him everything.
The hallway. The conversation. The documents. The threat.
Ethan listened without interrupting, but by the time she finished, anger had darkened his expression.
“That’s why you left,” he said.
“Yes.”
