Emelia Young could not sleep.
The memory of the restaurant—the perfume, the curve of the girl's jaw, the eyes—haunted her. She had returned home, dismissed the waiting staff, and shut the door to her bedroom, her hands trembling as she pulled out the framed photo of Roselyn at seventeen. The girl in the photo had been bright-eyed, innocent, unaware of the darkness that would later swallow her life.
And yet, in the flesh, the same face stared back at her the night before.
That girl… it was her.
The same eyes. The same delicate facial structure. The same way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
No matter what the girl claimed—Elena Vaughn, medical trainee, stranger—Emelia's heart screamed the truth: Roselyn was alive.
By dawn, Emelia had already begun mobilizing. She checked her schedule, drafted messages to old contacts in law enforcement and higher circles, and contacted the restaurant manager for CCTV footage. She needed proof. She needed her daughter back.
Every second she delayed felt like a lifetime.
Meanwhile: Elena Vaughn
Elena jolted awake from another nightmare—sweat soaking her hair, heart pounding, chest heaving.
The flashes returned: the ship, the cold steel tables, the harsh voice of Rambo. She pressed a hand to her chest as her "gift" prickled, a sensation crawling along her spine, a warning she had learned to heed.
Close. Too close.
She forced herself to sit upright, taking slow, measured breaths. Life had to continue. The hospital, her duties, the careful routine—she could not falter. Not now. Not ever.
Stepping into the hospital for her morning shift, Elena tried to blend in. But whispers followed her.
"Did you see Dr. Lockheart's date last night?""They looked so good together!""Finally, Dr. Vaughn is living a little."
Elena smiled politely, concealing the storm inside her. The curiosity of her colleagues, though harmless, made her heart race. If her mother could recognize her—who else might? Who could notice what others could not?
Her fragile peace, built over two long years, was starting to crack.
Ethan Receives a Call
Ethan Young had barely settled into his office when his phone buzzed. The name flashing on the screen made him pause.
"Mother? I'm in a meeting—"
"Ethan," Emelia's voice trembled. "I saw her."
Ethan froze.
"Roselyn. I saw her last night."
He stood abruptly, startling his colleagues. "Mother, what do you mean? That's impossible. You said—"
"I looked into her eyes," Emelia whispered. "I would know my daughter anywhere."
Ethan's mind raced. He remembered the girl he had seen at the foreign university, the one he had convinced himself was not Roselyn.
Two sightings. Two confirmations.
He gritted his teeth. "Where did you see her?"
Emelia described everything—the appearance, the behavior, and the name the girl had claimed: Elena Vaughn.
"Are you certain?" Ethan asked quietly, incredulity and hope warring in his chest.
"She denied it," Emelia admitted, voice breaking. "But mothers know. She was right in front of me."
Ethan closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. "I'll look into it. Don't tell Father or Grandfather yet."
"Please… bring my daughter home," Emelia whispered.
"I will," Ethan promised, though fear and uncertainty twisted in his stomach. If Roselyn was alive, why had she been hidden? Who was protecting her? And from whom?
A Shadow Stirs
On the other side of the city, in a dimly lit apartment, a man sat hunched over multiple monitors. Grainy images from the restaurant's CCTV flashed across the screens—intercepted before Emelia even received them.
The girl in the frame was older, leaner, but unmistakable.
Project Seraphim – Subject 01.Roselyn Young.
A cruel, satisfied smile spread across his face.
"So the little bird survived," he murmured.
A few keystrokes later, a coded message was dispatched across a secure, encrypted network.
TARGET CONFIRMED.FORWARDING TO RAMBO.
Rambo's shadow had begun to move again.
Elena's Awareness
Later that day, Elena took her break on the hospital rooftop, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the city below. The wind tugged at her hair, teasing it across her face. She felt it again—the prickling, icy awareness of being watched.
Her gift, once a whisper of intuition, now screamed its warning: danger was coming.
She did not know that her mother was searching for her. She did not know that Ethan had begun his investigation. She did not know that a deadly observer had confirmed her identity and sent the message to Rambo himself.
All she knew was that the fragile veil of normalcy she had built around herself was beginning to tear.
Her pulse quickened, heart hammering against her ribs. She tightened her coat around her, her eyes scanning the streets below, searching for shadows, for the first hint of intrusion.
For the first time in years, she felt the danger approaching—not as a distant threat, but as a tangible, imminent presence.
And for the first time, Elena understood clearly: she was being hunted.
Closing Tension
As the city moved on below her, oblivious to the storm gathering in Elena's life, she drew a deep breath, grounding herself. She had survived before. She could survive again.
But this time, it was different.
Her mother had found her. Her brother was beginning to search. And a monster from her past—the one she had thought buried—was stirring, sending its shadows to reclaim her.
Elena closed her eyes for a brief moment, forcing her fear into focus, readying herself for the storm she knew was coming.
The fragile peace she had built for two years was cracking.
And she could feel it: the danger was close, and it would not wait.