While she ate, Liam kept talking, sharing messages from their friends, the flowers that kept arriving until the nurses had to move them to other rooms, and how Leo had apparently threatened to storm the hospital if they didn’t let him visit soon.

What neither of them realized was that Dr. Morrison had already made his call.

When he looked at Ayla’s charts that morning, noting her low blood pressure, her disrupted sleep patterns, and her ongoing exhaustion, he wrote in her file: "Not cleared for discharge. Recommend a minimum of 48 more hours of observation and IV support."

Liam would definitely fight this. He would use every bit of persuasion he had. But the doctor had seen too many patients let go too soon, only to come back in worse shape.

He wouldn’t take that chance, especially with Ayla in such a vulnerable state.

But for now, in the calm of the hospital room with the morning light pouring in, Liam and Ayla were in their little bubble of hope.

He fed her breakfast while she slowly ate despite her complaints, both of them clinging to the idea of ’today’—even if that day ended up stretching into tomorrow.

*****

Emma grabbed her notebooks and stuffed them into her messenger bag as the professor’s voice faded into background noise.

The lecture had been interesting enough, advanced molecular biology wasn’t exactly a light read, but her thoughts kept drifting more than usual. Probably because she knew her dad was waiting for her.

They had agreed that he’d pick her up after her only class today.

She insisted on going even though he was worried, needing some kind of normal routine in the chaos their lives had turned into. Just one class. Then she could head back to whatever this new situation was that they were figuring out together.

As students filed out of the lecture hall, Emma checked her phone. No messages. Her dad wasn’t one to send texts like "I’m here." He would just be there, as patient and steady as ever.

She walked across campus, passing groups of students talking about assignments, couples lounging on the lawn despite the chill, and a bunch of people practicing some kind of performance piece near the arts building.

It felt like classic college life. Sometimes, it was hard to believe she was part of this world while also dealing with something way darker and scarier.

The parking lot came into view, and Emma’s eyes immediately spotted him.

Alexander was leaning against his car, checking his watch.

He was dressed more casually than usual, dark jeans, a fitted black Henley, and a leather jacket that emphasized his striking features.

Even from a distance, he drew attention, with several passing students glancing his way with obvious interest.

As Emma got closer, he looked up, and his whole face changed.

The serious look melted into something warm and genuine. He smiled at her, one of those rare smiles he saved just for his daughter.

She smiled back, unable to help it, and quickened her steps.

When she reached him, she didn’t hold back; she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Alexander’s arms came around her right away, holding her close, one hand gently cradling the back of her head.

"How was class?" he murmured against her hair.

"Long," Emma admitted, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "But good. I missed you, though."

"I was only gone for two hours."

"And your point?" She smirked, making him laugh, the sound low and warm.

"Just saying, I missed you too." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before stepping back to open the passenger door. "Let’s get out of here."

Emma slid into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of leather and her dad’s cologne wrapping around her.

She watched him walk around the car, his movements quick and purposeful. He was about to open the driver’s side when he suddenly stopped, his whole body going tense.

Alexander turned, his eyes scanning the parking lot with sharp intensity.

Emma leaned forward, confused. "Dad? What’s up?"

He didn’t reply right away, his gaze sweeping across rows of cars, clusters of students, and the surrounding trees. His hand automatically moved to his side, where Emma knew he usually kept a weapon.

"Dad?" she asked again, feeling a bit more worried now.

"It’s nothing," he answered, but there was a tone of unease in his voice. He turned back toward the car but paused, spinning to look in the other direction.

Emma watched him go through this motion three more times, each time checking more carefully, his eyes taking in everything.

Students walked by, completely unaware of how closely he was watching.

A car pulled out of a nearby spot, and a jogger went by on the path next to the lot. Everything seemed normal.

But her dad’s instincts were usually spot on.

On his fifth check of the area, he finally shook his head like he was brushing off his worries and slid into the driver’s seat.

Still, Emma could see the tension in his shoulders and how his eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror, even as he started the car.

"What was that about?" Emma asked as they pulled out of the parking space.

"Probably nothing," Alexander said, but his grip on the steering wheel was tighter than normal. "Just felt like someone was watching."

"Watching you? Or us?"

"Me." He glanced at her for a second. "It’s probably just paranoia. This life makes you see threats everywhere."

Emma wanted to ask more and dig deeper, but the set of his jaw showed that he was already racing through possibilities in his head.

So, she reached over and put her hand on his arm, a silent way to show support.

Alexander’s hand covered hers for a moment, giving a gentle squeeze before going back to the wheel. His eyes were still sharp on the road ahead.

What neither of them noticed was the figure emerging from behind a panel van three rows back, camera in hand, reviewing the dozens of photos he’d just taken.