Rain fell hard against the glass; New York's skyline blurred and soaked in shadows.
Yuna barely noticed.
She sat at the desk in Wolfe Tower's west wing—once used for archived records, now her war room. Three screens glowed. Dozens of files and hard drives spilled across the surface. Her robe hung loose at her shoulders, her hair twisted in a bun that had collapsed hours ago.
She hadn't slept.
Not since the file.
Not since the man she gave her trust—almost love—looked at her like she was the weapon aimed at his chest.
She clicked through encrypted archives again. One file, then the next.
Then—pause.
> Dr. Lysander Cho
Affiliation: Eastin Memorial Psychiatric Ward
Status: Transferred. No forwarding hospital listed.
Specialty: Memory manipulation therapy, classified chemical sedation.
Her heart stopped.
Memory manipulation therapy.
The file was from seven years ago.
The week she lost time.
The same week her father called her his daughter or his liability—she couldn't be both.
She scrolled to the bottom.
Attached: a memo from Victor Eastin.
> "Patient's emotional distress is increasing. Seal consent forms. If she threatens exposure again, initiate the sedative cycle."
Yuna's blood ran cold.
This was it.
This was how they made her forget.
This was how they forged her hand.
She barged into Alexander's quarters an hour later, soaked from the rain, USB in hand.
He stood near the fireplace, reading one of his mother's journals.
He didn't look up. "Did you find more reasons I shouldn't trust you?"
"No," she said. "I found proof you have to."
That made him look.
She tossed the USB onto the table.
"Dr. Lysander Cho. He worked for my father. Specialized in memory therapy and sedative consent manipulation. He treated me the week I 'signed' that file."
Alexander picked up the USB slowly.
"You're saying he drugged you."
"I'm saying my father used him to erase me. And the fake order on your life? It was part of the same operation."
He said nothing for a long moment.
Then finally: "Where is this doctor now?"
"Gone. Off-grid."
"But you're going to find him?"
Yuna stared into the fire. "I have to."
Alexander stepped closer. "You're willing to dig through the worst parts of yourself just to prove this isn't who you are."
She turned to him. "Because it's not."
Silence.
Then Alexander spoke again, softly.
"I want to believe you, Yuna."
She swallowed. "Then let me show you how deep the rot goes."
Across the city, Elsa watched the news—again.
She had expected more fallout from the file leak.
But the public didn't bite.
Not yet.
Wolfe was too powerful. Yuna was too polished.
She needed something uglier.
David entered the room carrying a thick manila envelope.
Elsa stood. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Straight from the Eastin vault," he said. "Every psychiatric file from Yuna's sessions. Including raw transcripts."
Elsa smiled.
Austin, seated in the corner, lifted his gaze. "You're going to leak it all?"
"Just enough," Elsa said. "To destroy her credibility."
Austin said nothing.
But something in his jaw twitched.
And when Elsa wasn't looking, he slipped a photo from the folder—one she hadn't noticed.
Yuna.
Age 19.
Crying on a hospital bed.
Someone holding her hand just off frame.
The man's wrist wore a Wolfe family signet ring.
Back at Wolfe Tower, Yuna stood beside Alexander as he loaded her evidence into his main system.
The rain had stopped.
But something heavier hung in the air.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we leak this. We show the world how far Victor Eastin went to silence his daughter."
Yuna hesitated. "What if it backfires? What if they say I'm unstable?"
"Then we make it part of the story," Alexander said. "You were silenced. Drugged. Discredited. But you're here."
"And what about us?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her. "What about us?"
"I need to know if you're still in this with me. Or if I've already lost you to suspicion."
Alexander stepped closer.
"I've spent years wanting revenge. Then I met you. And now I want truth."
"And if the truth is messy?"
"Then I want it messier."
His hand brushed her cheek.
Her breath caught.
They didn't kiss.
Not yet.
But the space between them turned electric.
The next morning, Austin sat in a café near Central Park.
He wore sunglasses.
Neutral colors.
And a mask far more complex than the one on his face.
He placed the stolen photo from Elsa's folder on the table.
Across from him, a man in his early sixties picked it up.
The same man from the photo—gray at the temples now, but unmistakable.
Dr. Lysander Cho.
"I wondered when you'd come," Cho said.
Austin tapped the table. "Yuna's about to take this public."
"She remembers?"
"Not everything. But enough to hunt you."
Cho exhaled. "If she exposes me, the others fall too."
"Then give me something to shut this down," Austin said.
Cho slid a small flash drive across the table.
"It's all there. Voice recordings. Consent forms. Forgery logs."
"Good," Austin said. "Now disappear."
Cho rose without a word and walked away.
Austin stared at the drive.
Then at the photo.
Then he sent one message to Elsa:
> "Pull back. She's more dangerous than we thought."
That night, Alexander stood in his private library staring at the family crest.
Something felt… wrong.
He turned back to the drive Yuna had given him.
Ran it through his decryption software.
But a hidden folder appeared—one not added by Yuna.
Inside: a video file.
He clicked the play button.
> A security cam feed.
Dated one week before Alexander's mother "died."
She stands in a glass office—speaking to someone.
Then the camera pans.
And Alexander's blood turns to ice.
The man she's speaking to…
Is Austin.