I didn't sleep.
Even after I closeld my eyes, his name kept echoing behind my lids.
Elias Ward.
It didn't mean anything to me. Not in the way it should. Not like a stranger who had saved my life. Or condemned it.
I paced the apartment until dawn. Lila was still asleep on the couch, curled into a blanket she barely fit under, one arm slung over her eyes like she was trying to block out the weight of the world. She'd done enough. Too much. I couldn't ask her to go further. Not with the way my hands were already shaking again.
I looked up Elias Ward.
There wasn't much — no social media, no photographs, just a few anonymous articles in online forums talking about a reclusive investor who only appeared in closed meetings and hospital boardrooms. Anonymous donations. Medical patents. Silence.
And a house. A towering black house in the hills, owned by a shell company but linked by one obscure news article to a man called Elias Ward.
It could've been anyone.
But my gut told me otherwise.
I got dressed.
I didn't tell Lila. I left a note instead — "Don't follow. I'll be fine. I need to understand who he is."
The cab ride to the hills felt like something from a dream. Trees blurred past in streaks of grey and green, and the city slowly faded behind me like it was something I was meant to leave behind.
The house appeared just after the last curve in the road. Black stone. Iron gates. Walls too high to see beyond. It looked like it had never been touched by sunlight.
I stepped out.
And the gate opened before I could even press the buzzer.
Like someone had been watching.
Like someone had been waiting.
I wanted to run.
But I didn't.
I walked through the gates, pulse thundering in my ears, the gravel crunching beneath my feet as I reached the door.
It opened.
And for a moment — just a single moment — I swore I saw someone standing at the top of the stairs.
Watching.
Waiting.
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