Beep...
Beep.....
Stephanie woke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the faint scent of antiseptics.
Her eyelids felt heavy, her body colder than she remembered. The storm… the screaming… Taylor… her mother—
She bolted upright.
"Easy," a calm voice said from the corner.
Her breath caught.
Riley Styles sat in a chair beside her bed, hands folded, posture impossibly straight even in a hospital room. His coat hung on the back of the chair, still damp from rain. Ethan stood behind him, tablet in hand, eyes gentle but alert.
For a second, Stephanie just stared, trying to piece together memory from haze.
"You…" she whispered. "You're the man from the storm…"
"Yes," Riley said quietly. "You were in danger. I intervened."
She swallowed, her throat tight. "My— my mom. Where's my mom?"
"Next room," Ethan said softly. "She regained consciousness an hour ago. She's stable."
"Wha—What about Taylor, the man that was with us?"
"He has also recovered, he went home as soon as he did" Ethan continued with a straight yet soft tone.
Stephanie's eyes shimmered. Relief crashed over her like a wave.
But at that moment, Riley stood.
"I need to speak with both of you," he said. "It concerns your safety."
Before Stephanie could ask anything, the curtain slid open.
Her mother — pale, weak, but awake — was being wheeled in by a nurse. The moment her eyes found Stephanie, she reached out shakily.
"My baby… thank God…"
Stephanie grabbed her hand immediately. The two held each other tightly, both trembling from everything they'd survived.
When the nurse stepped away, Riley moved closer.
"There's something you both need to know," he began.
Stephanie's mother blinked. "You… you saved us from those monsters. Why? Who are you?"
Riley hesitated — something rare for him — then answered.
"My name is Riley Styles. And… I knew your husband."
Both women froze.
Stephanie's mother's lips parted. "M-My husband? Michael?"
Riley nodded slowly.
"He was my commanding officer in the military. He trained me. Protected me. Treated me like a son when I had no one left."
His voice lowered, heavier.
"I owe him more than I can ever repay."
Stephanie stared. "My… dad was military? Mom— why didn't you ever tell me?"
Her mother's eyes filled with guilt.
"I didn't want your father's old life to touch you… or hurt you…"
Stephanie looked down, overwhelmed.
Riley continued gently:
"I recognized the SUV near your home. It belonged to someone who is extremely dangerous. That was why I stopped. And why I can't walk away now."
Stephanie swallowed hard. "…What do you want to do?"
Riley exchanged a glance with Ethan, then said:
"I want to help you leave that neighborhood. Immediately. The people who attacked you will not stop. The loan shark you owe answers to someone far more dangerous."
Her mother gripped her hand.
"Stephanie… this might be our chance."
Stephanie shook her head, conflicted.
"We can't just leave— we barely know him— we don't even know where he wants us to go—"
Her mother squeezed tighter, voice trembling:
"Baby… those men almost killed us."
Stephanie froze.
Her mother looked at Riley with humble, exhausted eyes.
"You said you knew Michael. If that's true… then I trust you. Please. Help us."
Stephanie turned away, torn between pride and fear and the crushing memory of the thugs' fists on Taylor, on her mother, on their walls—
Riley stepped closer, tone gentler than before.
"I'm not asking you to trust me completely," he said.
"Only to let me give you a safer place to breathe."
His eyes held no softness, only resolve — the promise of someone who had seen war and was ready to wage another.
Stephanie's breathing stilled, but then she looked at her worn out mother.
Then she nodded, just once.
"…Okay."
Her mother exhaled shakily, relieved.
Riley inclined his head.
"I'll arrange everything."
As he turned to leave, Stephanie called quietly:
"Why… why are you doing all this for us?"
Riley paused at the doorway.
His answer was simple.
"Because your father once did the same for me."
Then he stepped out into the hall, already planning the war he had just stepped into.
At that moment, the hospital corridor was quiet—too quiet for the storm still raging outside. Riley walked with long, controlled strides, rainwater from his earlier dash into the house still dried in thin streaks on his shirt.
Ethan caught up to him just before he reached the exit.
"Sir," he said, lowering his voice. "I just discovered that the interrogators have just finished questioning the three captured men."
Riley didn't stop walking, but a subtle tilt of his head signaled for Ethan to continue.
"They broke them separately," Ethan reported. "None of them lasted long once your interrogators started the enhanced process."
Riley's jaw tightened faintly—approval, not surprise.
"What did they give us?" he asked.
"A location," Ethan said, tapping his tablet. "A dockyard on the east side of Crescent City. Warehouse Twelve. It's controlled by a smuggling captain named Varko Genn. All three thugs insist he's the one who handles distribution, manpower assignments… and debt notices."
Riley stopped walking.
For the first time since entering the hospital, he stood completely still.
"Varko," he repeated quietly, as if tasting the name and deciding where to carve it later. "He'll know where the higher chain leads."
Ethan nodded. "Yes, sir. And according to their statements… Varko keeps records. Every payment. Every target. Every handler."
Riley's eyes sharpened with lethal clarity.
Exactly what he needed.
He started walking again, steps faster now. When they reached the glass doors to the parking lot, he spoke without turning.
"Ethan."
"Yes, sir?"
"You will personally oversee Stephanie Rogers and her mother's relocation. No one else."
Ethan frowned slightly. "Shouldn't I accompany you? Varko's location is heavily guarded—"
"No." Riley's tone was final, unshakeable. "I need someone I trust with them. They're vulnerable. And their presence in that neighborhood puts a target on their backs the longer they remain."
Ethan understood instantly.
"…What about Taylor?"
"Have someone to protect him from the shadows" Riley said. "He was injured protecting them. That earns him my protection, whether he knows it or not."
Ethan nodded, touched by the subtle acknowledgment.
"And you, sir?" he asked quietly.
Riley's gaze slid toward the dark parking lot where a black armored SUV waited—another identical to the one he came to the hospital with.
"I'm meeting Varko Genn."
Ethan's breath hitched minutely.
"Alone?"
"No." Riley's lips curled into something colder than a smile.
"I'll take a few special men."
The back doors of the SUV opened. Inside were four men dressed in black uniform gear—silent, disciplined, and deadly. Riley's own handpicked operatives.
Ethan swallowed. "Sir… you're going to start a war."
Riley stepped toward the SUV, pulling on his gloves with slow, deliberate precision.
"A war has already begun," he said. "I'm just choosing where it ends."
He paused with one foot in the vehicle.
"See to the Rogers. Personally."
"Yes, sir."
Riley climbed into the SUV, the doors closing behind him with a heavy metallic thud. The engine rumbled awake.
Ethan watched as the black vehicle pulled out of the hospital lot and disappeared into the storm's curtain—carrying Crescent City's quietest nightmare straight toward Warehouse Twelve.
The hunt had officially begun.