They did not talk on the walk back.

  The city filled the silence for them. Traffic humming. Late night chatter spilling from bars. Someone laughing too loudly at nothing. Kai stayed half a block behind Lian, close enough to cover her, far enough to give her space.

  When they reached the apartment, Lian kicked off her shoes and sat on the floor instead of the couch. She leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes.

  Kai locked the door and checked the windows before joining her. He slid down beside her and stretched his legs out.

  “He meant what he said,” Kai said.

  “I know,” Lian replied.

  “That almost makes it worse,” he said.

  She nodded. “It does.”

  They sat there until the quiet stopped feeling sharp.

  “You hear how he talks now,” Kai said. “Everything is measured. Like he is already being evaluated.”

  “He always wanted approval,” Lian said. “He just used to pretend he didn’t.”

  Kai glanced at her. “He loved you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And he loved what loving me said about him.”

  Kai frowned. “That is not fair.”

  “It is honest,” she said.

  Kai did not argue.

  Across the city, the doctor washed his hands too long.

  The water ran hot. Steam curled around his fingers. He scrubbed until the skin went pink and then red. When he looked up, his reflection stared back at him with tired eyes and a face that still looked too young for the weight he carried.

  A nurse knocked lightly on the door. “Doctor. They are waiting.”

  “I know,” he said.

  He dried his hands and adjusted his coat. White. Clean. Untouchable. That was the illusion at least.

  The boardroom smelled like coffee and impatience. Men and women in suits glanced up as he entered. Some nodded. Some barely looked at him.

  He took his seat and opened his folder.

  “We will proceed,” the chair said. “Doctor, your proposal was reviewed.”

  He waited.

  “While your outcomes are impressive,” the chair continued, “there are concerns about your approach.”

  “Concerns,” he echoed calmly.

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  “Your methods are aggressive,” another member said. “Unconventional.”

  “They save lives,” he replied.

  “At what cost,” she asked.

  He felt the familiar frustration rise. He kept his voice even. “Every advancement has a cost. The question is whether we are willing to pay it.”

  A man at the far end leaned back. “Your background complicates matters.”

  There it was.

  “My background,” the doctor repeated. “Which part concerns you. My education. My published work. Or my surname.”

  Silence followed.

  “We are simply cautious,” the chair said. “Given recent scrutiny.”

  “My father’s case was resolved years ago,” the doctor said.

  The chair avoided his eyes. “Public memory is not always fair.”

  The meeting ended without a decision.

  Again.

  He walked out with his folder tucked under his arm and his jaw tight. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly.

  He checked his phone.

  No messages.

  He thought of Lian standing at the pier. Calm. Unmoved. The way she looked at him like she already knew how this ended.

  He pushed the thought away.

  Later, he sat alone in his office. The lights dimmed automatically after hours. He opened a file he was not supposed to have. Funding projections. External partnerships. Private sponsors.

  The numbers were clear.

  Someone wanted what he could build. Someone without committees. Without hesitation.

  His phone buzzed.

  Unknown number.

  He stared at it for a long moment before answering.

  “Yes,” he said.

  The voice on the other end was polite. Interested. Patient.

  “We believe your work deserves support,” the voice said. “Without limitations.”

  The doctor leaned back in his chair. “At what cost.”

  “We can discuss that,” the voice replied.

  He ended the call and set the phone down.

  Across the city, Kai watched Lian pace the apartment.

  “You are wearing a groove into the floor,” he said.

  She stopped. “Sorry.”

  “You do not have to apologize,” he said.

  She leaned against the counter. “He is cornered.”

  Kai nodded. “Cornered people look for exits.”

  “They also lash out,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  She rubbed her face. “I keep thinking about the first night we met.”

  “You have told me,” Kai said. “You were both pretending to be someone else.”

  She smiled faintly. “We were very good at it.”

  Kai hesitated. “If he asks again. To meet.”

  “I will listen,” she said. “But I will not bend.”

  Kai studied her. “That might be what breaks him.”

  “That is his choice,” she replied.

  The next day, the doctor attended his father’s grave.

  It was quiet there. Clean. Respectful in a way the prison never had been.

  “I tried,” he said softly. “I really did.”

  The stone offered no reply.

  He stood there longer than he meant to. When he left, his phone buzzed again.

  A message this time.

  He did not delete it.

  That night, Lian sharpened her knives while Kai ran system checks. It was routine. Comforting.

  “You think he will stop,” Kai asked.

  “I think he is tired of asking permission,” Lian said.

  Kai nodded slowly. “That is dangerous.”

  “Yes,” she said. “For everyone.”

  They worked in silence.

  Somewhere between ambition and resentment, the doctor made a decision that felt like relief.