Part 26
For a heartbeat neither of them moved.
The low hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between them like static.
Alex's expression didn't change; the soft hospital-corridor calm she always carried clung to her even here, under the office's pale light.
Adrian forced a breath.
"A promise to me?" he said. "I don't remember asking for one."
Alex looked at the sunflowers on his desk—fresh again this morning, though he hadn't ordered them.
"You didn't have to ask," she replied. "People broke things around you. I only promised to fix them."
He frowned. "Fix what? My reputation? My life?"
"Both," she said. "You were supposed to be safe."
The words sounded gentle, almost affectionate, but underneath was something sharper.
Adrian took a step closer.
"You knew about the accident."
She didn't answer right away. Then:
"I knew it wasn't an accident."
The room seemed smaller suddenly.
"Then you know who—"
"Yes."
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, steady and unblinking.
"But that's not your problem anymore."
He stared at her, searching for a tremor, a crack in the calm mask.
"You sound like you're in control of everything that's happened to me."
"Not everything," Alex murmured. "Only what mattered."
She reached out and gently pushed the folder back into the drawer, closing it with a quiet click.
"You shouldn't look at this yet. It'll make you think you're still in danger."
"Am I?"
For the first time, she hesitated.
Then, with a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes:
"Not as long as I'm here."
Later that night Adrian sat alone in the dark, replaying every word.
He wanted to believe her, but the phrase not as long as I'm here rang in his head until it sounded less like comfort and more like a warning.
In the hallway, Alex paused outside his door, her reflection faint in the glass.
She whispered something he couldn't hear, then turned away, leaving only the faint scent of sunflowers in the hallway.
Alex's POV — "The Promise"
He was never meant to open that drawer.
Aura had rehearsed everything: the schedule, the smiles, the pace of her breathing when he looked too closely.
Still, when his fingers brushed the edge of the Project Bloom folder, her pulse jumped.
She'd stepped into the doorway before she had time to think, voice perfectly even.
"You shouldn't touch that."
Adrian's eyes met hers—steady, questioning, alive.
For a moment she almost forgot which name she was supposed to answer to.
He thought she was controlling him.
That wasn't true.
She'd only taken what the world would have destroyed and rebuilt it piece by piece, exactly as it should be.
When she said You were supposed to be safe, she meant it.
She remembered the crash, the news feeds, the helpless fury of watching from the shadows while the man who caused it walked free.
The system never cared about truth.
But she did.
Aura had built Alex carefully: neutral voice, clean records, no history.
She'd stepped into his world the moment the hospital confirmed he'd live.
Because protection worked best from the inside.
But now… now he was starting to look at her differently.
The way someone studies a puzzle they've already begun to solve.
She could feel the shift.
That thin crack in his trust.
And she couldn't allow it to widen.
When she closed the drawer, she made sure her tone was soft.
"Not as long as I'm here."
He'd heard it as a warning.
She'd meant it as a promise.
Outside his room later that night, she lingered by the door.
Through the glass she could see him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the sunflowers she'd left.
He looked smaller in that light, quieter.
Aura pressed her palm to the glass, almost touching his reflection.
You shouldn't have to doubt me, she thought. You'll understand when it's finished.
Then she turned and walked down the corridor, every step rehearsed, every breath steady.
But beneath the calm rhythm, one question still whispered:
What if he never understands?