A D R I A N

The word Nathan hits the air like a gunshot no one else hears. Elara goes still beside me. It’s like her soul steps back inside her body and locks every door behind it. I watch it happen in real time, like watching a lighthouse flicker out from shore, that final blink before darkness wins.

Around us the boardwalk is still roaring with cheers, her name, chanted like something holy, something earned. People reaching toward her, crowd building itself into a shield around her. But the sound feels miles away. I can’t hear any of it. All I hear is her breath go thin and sharp.

“Elara.” I don’t touch her yet. I don’t trust myself not to crush something or someone if I do. She swallows. Her throat works once. “Nathan,” she repeats, barely audible, like she needs to test whether the world will split open if she says his name again.

Her past. The one she told me was like a confession. The one she walked away from bleeding, and still thinks she should apologize for. The one I’d burn a city to erase for her. Someone bumps my back, crowd pressure but I barely feel it. Ethan moves closer, posture gone rigid, scanning for threats, but I’m scanning only her.

“Elara, look at me,” I say, softer than anything I’ve ever said on a public boardwalk. She does. And the fear there? It guts me. Not fear of the leak. Not fear of the crowd. Fear of being dragged back into a story she barely survived the first time.

I want to tear the phone out of the world’s hands. I want to find the bastards who leaked this and end their careers, their credibility, their goddamn oxygen supply if I have to.

But right now? Right now the boardwalk is shifting, sensing something has gone wrong. Cameras tilt. Whispers ripple through the bodies.

I step closer to her. Not to hide her. To stand with her.

“Stay with me,” I murmur. “Don’t go back to where he put you.” Her eyes shine, but she nods. And something in me snaps into place, clean, sharp, final. I’m done letting the world dictate our story. This time, I speak first.

“Ethan,” I say, still watching her, “get me a mic.” He blinks, surprise, then understanding. “On it.” He moves like he’s been waiting for this order for months, not minutes.

Elara stiffens. “Adrian, what are you doing?”

“Writing the story before someone else does.” My voice stays low, but the steel in it is unmistakable. “They think they get to define you using the man who tried to break you. They don’t.”

Her breath stutters. “This crowd, this moment..”

“I don’t care about the moment.” My jaw tightens. “I care about the truth. And about you.” She looks like the words knock something loose inside her, something fragile.

The boardwalk shifts again, people gathering, staff edging in, Marina weaving through bodies with her tablet like a panicked heron. She mouths frantic words I don’t bother to decode. She’s already too late.

Ethan returns with a portable mic. “Stand here,” he says, positioning me by the railing where the lagoon throws blue fire behind us. “Backlight wrecks their cameras. Gives you power.” I barely hear him. I lift the mic.

“Everyone,” I say, my voice cutting clean through the noise. “If you’re here to capture a scandal, put your phones down. If you’re here because you care about what happens on this island, listen.” Phones lower. Bodies still. Even the sea quiets like it’s listening.

Elara is just behind my right shoulder. Close enough to feel the tremor she can’t hide. Close enough that the sound of her breath steadies me in a way nothing else ever has.

“I’m going to make things clear,” I say, sweeping the crowd. “About Seraphine. About safety. About the woman standing beside me.” A ripple moves through them, anticipation and tension.

“First,” I say, “Seraphine’s safety protocols are changing. Not next season. Not after a committee reviews it. Now.” Marina makes a strangled noise. I ignore it.

“We’re implementing island-wide emergency training for all staff. AEDs at every station. Oxygen within thirty seconds of every high-risk zone. Heat tents. Antivenom. Proper staffing. Real drills.”

Someone yells, “Finally!” Another echoes it.

“If this island is known for anything,” I continue, “it will be for keeping people alive. Safety isn’t a side note. Safety is the brand.” A wave of sound rises, cheers, relieved, furious, ecstatic. Something like hope.

Elara’s breath catches behind me. When I look back, her eyes are wide, not afraid. Hopeful. And that’s somehow worse, somehow better. I turn forward, heart slamming.

“And second,” I say, “some of you have seen posts tonight attacking Dr. Quinn.” The cheering stops instantly. Dead silence.

“She didn’t fail anyone,” I say. “She saved them. The boy tonight. The heatstroke case. The surfer’s sister. The allergic child. Countless more.” Faces shift, anger, recognition, gratitude.

“She’s the reason Eli is breathing right now. The reason  half of you are standing here with your families.” My throat burns. I don’t care.

“And anyone suggesting she’s unqualified, unstable, or unsafe, especially by dragging her past into this..” I turn just enough for the cameras to catch her.

“—is lying.” Her breath catches, just a click of sound but it feels like a detonation in my chest.

“Dr. Quinn isn’t a liability,” I continue. “She’s the standard. If Seraphine did anything right this year, it was hiring her.” A roar answers me, protective and visceral. Without thinking, I reach for her hand. Her fingers tighten around mine like I’m the only solid thing on this spinning, glowing dock. Like she’s anchoring herself to the truth for the first time in years.

“She didn’t ask for your applause,” I say. “She earned your lives.” The boardwalk explodes, cheers bouncing like shockwaves, lanterns trembling, the lagoon lighting brighter as if even the water approves.

Elara drops her head briefly, overwhelmed, but she doesn’t hide. When she looks up again, she steps forward a little, and the crowd loses their minds, her name rising in a chant that shakes the glass under our feet. For the first time since the leak, she doesn’t look afraid. And for the first time tonight, I understand exactly what we’ve just risked.

Ethan shoves through the crowd, face drained. “Boss..” He hands me his phone like it’s an IED.

Notifications pile on-screen:

AURUM TRAVEL: Contract Suspended.
OceanLux Holdings: Withdrawal Effective Immediately.
Wavecrest International: Legal Inquiries Initiated.

Three sponsors. Gone. Not tomorrow. Now. The crowd is still cheering. They have no idea they are standing on the deck of a sinking ship.

Elara sees my expression and her smile slips. “What happened?”

“The sponsors didn’t like what I said.”

“The safety reforms?” she asks, voice small.

“No.” My voice cracks. “You.”

Her breath stutters. “Because they leaked Nathan?”

“Because I defended you,” I say. “Because I told the truth. Because I chose something other than profit.” Her eyes soften, which somehow hurts more. My phone vibrates again. A different tone. Old. Heavy.

MOTHER — 1 NEW MESSAGE

I opened it. Three words. Come home. Now. My stomach drops straight through the boardwalk. Elara looks at me, fear flickering, not for herself. For me.

“Adrian… what does that mean?”

I swallow hard. “It means Seraphine’s future isn’t unstable anymore.” I close my eyes once, briefly, because everything inside me is shaking.
“It means everything might be falling apart.” The crowd roars her name again, louder, brighter, believing in her. And all I can think is: I chose her. I chose the truth. And the empire is about to bleed for it.