E L A R A

The moment Adrian says “Over my dead body,” something in me stops unraveling. His voice goes quiet and lethal, like he’s already decided who he’ll scorch if they come for me. My panic slams into that steadiness and… pauses. Just long enough for air to reach my lungs again.

The tablet is still in Ethan’s hands, that awful blurry image burned into the back of my eyes, my body, his head between my legs, a smear pretending to be the truth. My stomach twists. People never need clarity to destroy a woman; suggestion is enough.

I’m shaking before I feel it. But Adrian turns toward me, eyes sharp and furious in a way that feels like a hand on my spine holding me upright. His palm finds the small of my back, warm and grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. I don’t want to need that. I do anyway.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, the words slipping out like a cracked bone.

“I know,” he says. “But I’m not.” The worst moment of my life feels just a little less impossible.

While Adrian speaks to Aurelius Maritime, controlled, clipped—Ethan is already on comms, Marina is whispering PR strategies, and I’m just… standing there. Behind them. Like a problem they’re trying to fix.

New York flashes through me, the closed-door meetings, the way I was told to “let administration handle things,” Nathan’s voice telling me compassion made me weak. That I made trouble by caring too much. That optics mattered more than truth.

My throat tightens. My fingers tremble. “I can’t go through this again,” slips out before I can stop it. Ethan’s sympathy is quick and useless. I don’t want pity. I want control. Air. My own voice. I step forward, right between them and take the tablet from Ethan. My hand is shaking, but it’s mine.

“I want to see what they’re doing to me,” I say quietly. “No more hiding.” Adrian breaks off mid-sentence, eyes locking on me. There’s respect there, raw and unexpected. It steadies something deep in my ribs.

Our phones chime at the same time. A fresh alert. Another leak. My pulse spikes hard enough that I taste metal. I open it with numb fingers.

A collage hits the screen:
• the corridor kiss
• the Skybridge photo
• a cropped shot of me kneeling by a fainting child, all stitched into a grotesque narrative.

Headline:
“Who is Dr. Elara Quinn really?”

Subtext:
“Unlicensed doctor manufactures emergencies for attention.”

My vision blurs. Nathan’s voice slams into me like a fist:
They’ll believe anything about you.
You’re too emotional. Too easy to blame.

I can’t breathe for a second, just a thin, burning ache under my ribs.

Marina murmurs, “We can spin..” but Adrian snaps, “Don’t,” like he might tear the room apart if she speaks again. I swallow hard. Force my lungs open.

“I’m not running,” I whisper. They both hear it. They both freeze.

Adrian turns to me, hands half-lifted like he’s afraid I’ll break. “We should get you upstairs,” he says softly. “Away from cameras.”

“No.”  It comes out sharp. Too sharp.

“Elara..”

“I said no.” My voice wobbles, but my spine doesn’t. “If I disappear, they win. The story becomes guilt. Shame. Hiding. I’m not doing that again.”

His jaw flexes like he’s fighting every instinct he has. “I just want you safe.”

“And I want to stop being treated like something fragile,” I snapped. “Don’t tuck me away like a PR problem.” Ethan glances between us like he’s watching a lit fuse. Marina looks annoyed that I’m not following her script.

I step closer, close enough to feel Adrian’s breath. “Let them see me. Let them see I’m not afraid.” He exhales, slow, surrendering.

“…Okay.” His hand lifts, brushing the back of my neck, warm, steady, enough to keep me from shaking apart.

The boardwalk feels different the moment we step onto it, like every lantern has turned to look at me.

The wind lifts my hair, cool against skin that suddenly feels too hot, too visible. Bluefire Lagoon glows beneath the glass planks, those electric blues flickering like a heartbeat underfoot. Usually it’s beautiful. Tonight it feels like a spotlight.

People are already staring. Phones rise. A whisper rolls through the crowd, sharp enough to cut skin. My stomach knots tight, but Adrian steps half a pace behind me, close enough to feel his warmth, not close enough to look like he’s shielding me.

Thank God for that. I don’t want to be someone he hides. My hands tremble once, just once. I curl them into fists. Keep walking. Trauma-bay steps: steady, sure, even when your pulse is screaming. A woman gasps as we pass. A man says “Is that her?” like I’m a rumor, not a person.

My throat tightens. Adrian’s fingers brush the back of my arm, barely a touch. But it helps. Then a child darts across our path—a little girl, sundress fluttering.

“You’re the doctor who helped the boy at rehearsal,” she says. My breath stumbles. Her mother tries to pull her back, embarrassed, but the girl just beams at me. Like I’m someone worth smiling at. It almost breaks me.

The girl’s voice triggers something, like the crowd needing permission. A man steps forward next. Heatstroke case. I remember the panic in his eyes the day he collapsed.

He puts a hand over his heart.
“You saved my life,” he says, loud. “We’re only here because of you.” I almost dropped.

Then the allergic-toddler mother.
“My son sleeps with the bracelet you gave him.”

A staff member I trained.
“You taught me how to run drills that actually work.”

A surfer.
“She kept my sister breathing until the boat came.” One by one, they move forward. A slow tide. Placing themselves between me and the cameras. Between me and the whispers.

A woman touches my shoulder. “Don’t let them make you small,” she murmurs exactly what Mara wrote to me. My vision blurs.

Someone shouts at a photographer. A surfer blocks him like a human shield. “Back off, she’s with us.” 

It hits me then, sharp and overwhelming:
They aren’t here because of Adrian.  They’re here because of the work I’ve done. The lives I’ve touched. The people I refused to give up on. My chest pulls tight. Like being stitched back together. For the first time tonight, I’m not afraid.

I feel Adrian step beside me. His shoulder brushes mine, deliberate. When I look at him, his expression is nothing like the lethal fury from earlier. It’s softer. Amazed, almost. Like he’s witnessing something he never expected.

“Elara,” he murmurs, low, “look at what you built.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t build..”

“Yes,” he says, voice rough, “you did. You saved these people. And now they’re saving you.” His fingers brush mine, barely a touch, but enough to steady me again. For a moment, the world narrows to the warmth of his hand and the truth in his voice.

A notification pings. One small sound. It slices straight through the moment. Adrian stiffens. Ethan checks his phone and his face drains of color.

“Boss…” he says. Adrian takes the phone. Aurelius Maritime’s message flashes across the screen:

We saw the public reaction. Your doctor’s support is… notable. Reconsidering our stance. Awaiting your statement.

My heart stutters, relief, wild and shaky but another notification lands instantly beneath it. Adrian’s jaw locks.

Ethan looks over his shoulder. Pale. “Another leak.” My relief dies in my throat.

“Show me,” I whisper. I’m done hiding. Done flinching. But Adrian doesn’t turn the phone.

“You don’t need to see this.”

Ice floods my spine. “Adrian.”

His voice drops to a razor: “It’s worse than the last one.” My pulse stutters. The crowd feels miles away.

“Please,” I say, barely audible. “Tell me.” He closes his eyes for a heartbeat. When he opens them, I see something raw, something that hates what he’s about to say.

“They’re not just going after us,” he murmurs.  “They’re going after your past.” My blood runs cold.

“What did they find?” He hesitates. Terrifying. Then:

“They leaked Nathan.” The ground drops out from under me.