Chapter 22
ETHAN
The hospital room was a quiet cocoon, the steady beep of the monitor a soft counterpoint to the rain still tapping against the window. Natalie lay in the bed, her face pale but peaceful, the oxygen mask replaced with a nasal cannula that hissed faintly with each breath.
I sat beside her, my chair pulled close, my hand resting lightly on hers, denying every visitor who knocked—reporters, politicians, even well-meaning volunteers—until the staff learned to stop asking.
The chaos of City Hall felt a world away, the flood’s aftermath a distant hum, but the weight of what had happened pressed on me, a burden I couldn’t shake.
She’d been swept away, nearly lost, and the memory of her body in that current haunted me, fueling a resolve I hadn’t fully formed yet.
Time blurred as I stayed with her, the hours stretching into the next morning. The doctors had stabilized her—concussion, bruising, a sprained wrist from the impact—but she needed rest, and I wasn’t leaving until she woke.
The room smelled of antiseptic and damp fabric, my clothes still clinging from the rescue, but I didn’t care.
Her presence, even in sleep, anchored me, a lifeline in the storm of my thoughts.
The man in the gray suit lingered in my mind, his note a silent threat, and the mystery of what it meant gnawed at me.
Was this a test? A warning?
The unease had deepened into a certainty that I was in deep shit, and the questions piled up faster than I could answer them.
Should I call Atlas? The thought flickered, a reflex from years of relying on my own instincts, but doubt crept in like a shadow.
What if the Charleston Danes were part of this?
What if that gray-suited figure was a trial they’d set, a way to measure me before fully accepting me into their fold?
The idea rattled my reality, shaking the foundation of trust I’d begun to build with them.
No, I couldn’t accept that. I’d looked into their faces. They were my brothers. I had to trust that bond, to believe in the family I’d just discovered, even as the uncertainty gnawed at my resolve.
But that trust couldn’t solve the immediate need clawing at me.
The thunder had shaken the city, a deep rumble that mirrored the urgency in my chest, and it drove home one truth: I needed to be with Natalie, to ensure she was safe.
The thought of her, her strength and warmth, cut through the chaos like a beacon, pulling me back to the present.
I’d stay until she was lucid, until I knew she was whole again, but beyond that, I felt the stirrings of a plan, a path I’d have to walk alone.
A soft knock broke the silence, and I tensed, ready to send another visitor away.
But the door opened, and Butch Kennedy stepped in, his white hair damp from the rain, his linen jacket wrinkled but still carrying that air of authority.
The staff hadn’t stopped him—her grandfather, a man whose name carried weight, even here.
I nodded, keeping my voice low. “She’s sleeping.”
He glanced at her, his eyes softening, then pulled a chair close, sitting with a sigh that spoke of years.
“Good. She needs it.” His gaze shifted to me, assessing, and for a moment, we sat in silence, the beeping monitor filling the space.
Then, as Natalie’s breath steadied, he spoke, his voice rough but earnest. “She’s all I’ve got left, you know.
My son—her father—chose paint over politics, and her mother’s been gone since she was small.
Natalie’s the heart of what’s left of me. ”
I watched him, seeing past the polished exterior to the man beneath—a figure who’d once commanded this city, who still pretended to hold that power, but whose world had shrunk to this single room, this single girl.
The weight of his words sank in, a vulnerability I hadn’t expected.
He wasn’t the mayor anymore, not really—just a man without a purpose, clinging to the granddaughter who’d become his anchor.
My own losses echoed in that, the pain of Dad’s abandonment, and a quiet understanding passed between us, a silent agreement forged in the shared space of our scars.
“I’ll look out for her,” I said, my voice steady, a promise I meant to keep.
He nodded, a flicker of something—acceptance, maybe—crossing his face. “I can see that. Didn’t think much of you at first, riding in like some damn cowboy, but you’ve got grit. Keep it.”
He stood, patting my shoulder with a hand that trembled slightly, then left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
As Natalie slept, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that reassured me, I knew what I had to do next. The gray-suited man’s note, the chase, the test—it all pointed to something bigger, something tied to my family, to the Danes.
Hours later, Natalie stirred, her eyes fluttering open, a faint smile curving her lips as she saw me. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice hoarse but warm.
“Hey,” I replied, squeezing her hand. “How you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a Jeep,” she said, a weak laugh escaping her. “But I’ll live. Thanks to you.”
We chatted for a bit, her words slow but steady, asking about the rescue, the crowd, the city’s response. I filled her in, keeping my tone light, though the weight of my decision pressed against my chest. Finally, I took a breath, meeting her gaze. “I have to go.”
She frowned, her hand tightening on mine. “For a bit? You need rest, too, you know.”
I shook my head, the truth spilling out.
“Might be a day, or three, maybe more. I need to handle something.” Her eyes widened, alarm flickering in them, and I pressed on, needing her to understand.
I told her about the man in the gray suit.
All of it—the note, the chase, the duplicates.
“Someone’s watching, testing me, maybe us. I have to find out who, why.”
She listened, her expression shifting from shock to concern, but I could see her mind working, dissecting the problem like she did with every flood map.
To her credit, she didn’t falter, her worry tempered by a quiet resolve.
“Who do you think he is?” she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hand.
I leaned back, the honesty raw on my tongue. “I have no idea. But deep down, I feel it’s about my father. Everything in my life—his absences, his lessons, his disappearance—has circled back to Byron Dane. This has to be tied to him.”
She nodded, processing, then asked, “How will the Danes at Dominion Hall help?”
“They won’t,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m not telling them. If that man knows everything—my name, my brothers, where I’ve been—he’s got eyes everywhere. I need to vanish, move in the shadows where he can’t find me.”
Her eyes searched mine, alarm deepening. “Why do you have to do this alone?”
I paused, the weight of my identity settling over me.
“Because that’s who I am, Natalie. The Shield—protecting my family, my brothers, you.
It’s what I was made for, a duty forged in the fire of every loss I’ve carried.
I’ll track this threat, unravel it, and keep you all safe. That’s my purpose. That’s my strength.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue, her gaze holding mine with a mix of fear and understanding. Neither of us knew what lay ahead.