Constance Hanigan stepped forward, elegant and sharp as always in a tailored charcoal pantsuit, she felt an immediate, jarring dissonance. Violet followed, tablet already active, but Constance’s focus snagged instantly on Hank. He stood near his office door, a forced smile stretched across his face, but it was a brittle fa?ade, cracked and ill-fitting. The raw energy she’d come to associate with him… that quiet confidence, the intensity behind his eyes… was choked, smothered by something cold and sharp. His posture was rigid, his gaze distant and haunted, scanning the lobby with a predator’s unease rather than an owner’s command.
"Hank?" Constance said, her usual brisk greeting softening with concern as she closed the distance between them. "What is it? What’s wrong?"
He seemed to snap back to the present, blinking. The forced smile flickered, then died. He didn’t speak, just gave a jerky nod towards his office. Inside, the panoramic view of the city seemed mocking in its normality. Violet, sensing the shift in atmosphere, found her designated desk near Hank’s office with quiet efficiency, powering on her computer while casting worried glances towards them.
Hank sank heavily into his new leather chair, the expensive material groaning under his weight as if protesting the tension radiating from him. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the sound harsh in the quiet room, then wordlessly opened the laptop on his desk and spun it around to face Constance.
She leaned forward, her eyes quickly scanning the screen, the official header from the Miami PD catching her attention first. Her brow furrowed slightly, reading the initial pleasantries about Courtney’s safety, then sharpened as she hit the core of the message. The words blurred into a horrifying narrative: Alex talking… killed two girls… planned to use Courtney… kill her… plan in motion… Jhamish coming for her… nothing can stop him…
Constance’s breath caught in her throat, a sharp, audible gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth, knuckles white. The professional composure she wore like armor dissolved, revealing the raw fear beneath. "Fuck…" she muttered, the curse a low, horrified whisper.
Hank nodded grimly, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "I already alerted Security," he said, his voice tight, strained. "Double patrols, badge checks mandatory, nobody gets in without visual confirmation."
She nodded, processing the immediate actions, her mind racing. "And your… other friends?" she asked quietly, her gaze instinctively flicking towards the window, upwards, towards the rooftop across the street where she knew, somehow, unseen watchers often lingered. She’d learned enough in their recent, intense conversations to accept the unbelievable.
Hank let out a low growl, a frustrated, feral sound. "They have eyes everywhere," he confirmed, the words clipped. "I am sure they sense what I am feeling right now." The raw anxiety, the burning rage, the cold dread… it pulsed off him in waves.
Constance looked towards the shadowed corners of the office, her voice carrying a quiet command born of burgeoning familiarity with the extraordinary. "One of you… please come in here," she said, the request hanging in the suddenly charged air.
The shadows near the far bookshelf seemed to deepen, coalesce, and then Elowen stepped out, not through a door, but from the very air itself. Her long hair, the vibrant green of a sun-drenched forest canopy, cascaded around her shoulders, and her golden eyes, ancient and filled with a calm power, fixed on Hank.
"Yes, sister?" she whispered, her voice like the rustling of leaves in a hidden glade. Despite the impossible nature of her arrival, her presence was immediately soothing.
"Elowen," Hank acknowledged, his voice rough, but losing some of its ragged edge. He nodded towards the laptop.
Constance turned the screen slightly so the elf could see. "We received a threat against Courtney," she explained, her own voice regaining some of its composure in Elowen’s presence.
Elowen scanned the email swiftly, her golden eyes absorbing the information without any visible sign of alarm. She looked back at Hank, her expression serene but resolute. "The sisters have already been informed, Hank," she stated calmly. "We knew the moment the threat solidified in the human's mind. Our eyes are upon her. She will be safe."
She stepped closer and placed a cool, slender hand on Hank’s chest, directly over his heart. The touch was featherlight, yet carried an immense weight of reassurance, of ancient power. "She will be safe," Elowen repeated, her voice a deep promise, an elven vow that resonated in the room. "Trust us."
Hank met her gaze, the turmoil in his eyes quieting slightly under the weight of her certainty. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Thank you," he managed, the words thick with emotion he couldn’t fully express.
Elowen offered him a small, enigmatic smile. "Someone important is coming," she whispered, her gaze flicking towards the elevator bank just beyond the office window. Then, with a movement too swift for the human eye to truly follow, she dissolved back into the shadows she had emerged from, leaving behind only the faintest scent of pine and starlight.
Almost immediately, the elevator chimed its arrival on the floor. Hank and Constance both turned towards the sound, the ordinary noise jarring after the ethereal encounter. The doors slid open, and Lisa Yu stepped out, her professional energy a stark contrast to the magic that had just filled the room. She moved with purpose, her dark hair swinging, her focus on the day ahead, completely unaware of the unseen forces swirling around her new boss.
Hank watched her approach, a complex mix of his lingering worry and a sudden, almost inappropriate flicker of attraction stirring within him. A reluctant smirk touched his lips.
Constance saw it. She leaned closer to Hank, her voice a low, amused whisper. "Your next woman?" she teased gently, nudging his arm, trying to inject a moment of normalcy into the charged atmosphere.
Hank sat back down heavily in his chair, the brief moment of distraction fading as the weight of the threat against Courtney settled back onto his shoulders. He sighed, the sound ragged. "Who knows," he said, his gaze distant again, lost in the storm of worry and the impossible complexities of the life he now lived.
---
Mona felt like a specimen pinned under glass. The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to press in on her, amplifying the incessant, low beeping of unseen machines down the hall. Doctors, a rotating cast in crisp coats, huddled near the doorway, their voices a low murmur of professional bafflement. Clipboards were flipped, brows furrowed, words like "unprecedented remission," "spontaneous recovery," and "anomaly" drifting over to her bed. They were discussing her, about her, but rarely to her. She’d been poked, prodded, scanned, and bled for what felt like an eternity. Nine solid hours. X-rays that peered into her bones, CAT scans mapping her insides, the claustrophobic tunnel of the MRI machine, and enough blood draws to make her feel faint… six times they'd come at her with needles. She felt less like a patient and more like a particularly stubborn lab rat who had inexplicably defied the experiment's parameters.
One of them, Dr. Harrison, the lead oncologist with eyes that held more clinical curiosity than compassion, finally detached himself from the huddle and approached her bed. He offered a tight, professional smile that didn’t reach his tired eyes. "Mona," he began, his tone practiced and slightly condescending, "we understand you're fatigued, but the results are… perplexing. We'd like to run just one more panel, a comprehensive genetic marker test. We just need to draw a little more blood."
Mona, who had been staring blankly at the ceiling tiles, turned her head slowly, fixing him with a gaze that felt older than her fourteen years. Exhaustion warred with a newfound spark of defiance. "No," she said, her voice raspy but firm. "No more."
Dr. Harrison blinked, taken aback. "Mona, this is important. Understanding how this happened…"
"How what happened?" Mona interrupted, a flicker of her old sardonic humor returning. "How I'm not dying anymore? Seems like a good thing, doesn't it?" She pushed herself up slightly against the thin pillows. "You've had nine hours. Nine hours of tests, scans, probing, sticking needles in me. I feel like I've run a marathon. I'm done." She held the doctor's gaze, unwavering. "Mr. Avery was here yesterday," she stated, the name hanging in the air like an anchor. "He offered to adopt me. If he still wants to, I accept. I want a life, Doctor, not just… more tests."
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Dr. Harrison’s lips thinned, a smirk playing at the edges. "Adopt you? A generous sentiment, perhaps, but why would anyone adopt a sick girl?" The words were dismissive, callous, reflecting his focus on the medical puzzle rather than the person before him.
Mona smirked back, the expression sharp, cutting. "To give me hope, maybe? To be a decent human being, not a clinical jackass?" She’d had enough of being treated like a case file. "Now listen here, young lady," Dr. Harrison retorted, his professional veneer cracking, revealing the irritation beneath. "As long as the state government is footing the bill for your care in this hospital, you are essentially under our jurisdiction. You will comply with the tests we deem necessary."
Mona just stared at him, then slowly reached for the battered cellphone lying on the bedside table. Her fingers, still thin but steadier than they’d been in months, tapped the screen, finding Hank’s contact. She pressed dial, holding the phone to her ear, her gaze never leaving the doctor’s indignant face.
"Hi Hank," she said, her voice softening instantly, a warmth entering her tone that hadn’t been there moments before.
Hank's voice came through, concerned and immediate. "What's up, Mona? Everything okay?"
"Mostly," she replied, a small, wry smile touching her lips. "But the doctors here want to keep doing tests on me, and I’ve had enough. It’s been constant for nine hours. I’m exhausted."
There was a brief pause on the other end. "Mona, what are you asking me?" Hank’s voice was gentle, patient.
She took a breath. "You wanted to adopt me," she stated, the words both a question and a declaration.
"I do," Hank confirmed instantly, his voice firm, unwavering. Relief washed over Mona, so potent it almost made her dizzy.
"I want that too," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Can you… can you come here now? Please?"
"I'll be there in forty minutes," Hank promised without hesitation. Mona smiled, a real, radiant smile this time.
"Good. See you soon," she said, then, emboldened by his promise, she added softly, almost shyly, "…Dad."
Hank chuckled on the other end, a warm, deep sound that vibrated through the phone. "Felt good, didn't it?" he asked gently.
Mona laughed, a wet, choked sound, tears finally brimming. "It really did," she whispered. She ended the call, lowering the phone slowly, her gaze returning to the stunned doctor.
"No more tests," she repeated, her newfound confidence palpable.
"But…" Dr. Harrison started, sputtering, just as the door swung open and Molly Kells stepped into the room, her nurse's uniform crisp, her expression immediately sensing the tension.
"Is everything alright in here?" Molly asked, her gaze sharp as she took in the doctor’s flushed face and Mona’s determined expression.
Mona smirked. "No. Dr. Harrison here wants to keep poking me with needles, and I told him I'm done."
Molly sighed, turning to the doctor, her professional demeanor firmly in place but her eyes holding a hint of steel. "Hasn't this poor girl endured enough for one day, Doctor?"
"She is the property of the state!" Dr. Harrison snapped, falling back on bureaucratic justification. "And she will follow required medical protocols!"
Mona just shook her head slowly. Molly smirked, folding her arms. "Funny," Molly said, her tone dangerously sweet. "Because last I heard, there's official paperwork already in progress for her adoption. Which would make her the responsibility of her new legal guardian, not the state."
Mona smiled, a genuine, hopeful smile this time. Dr. Harrison stared at them, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.
"This is not over," he threatened, pointing a finger first at Mona, then at Molly.
Mona just gave him a small, mocking wave. "Bye…" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The doctor spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Mona looked at Molly, the tough facade crumbling slightly, revealing the vulnerable girl beneath.
"Thank you," she whispered, the word thick with unshed tears. Then, trying out the unfamiliar syllable, she added, "…Mom."
Molly’s eyes softened instantly. She stepped forward and gently brushed a stray hair from Mona’s forehead. "Oh, honey," she said softly, a warm smile spreading across her face. "You're going to have about thirty moms before you know it, all spoiling you rotten."
Mona laughed, the sound watery but genuine. "Thirty? Unbelievable…" she said, shaking her head, the word catching in her throat.
Molly smiled and nodded, pulling the chair closer to the bed. "Yeah," she whispered, her hand finding Mona’s, her touch warm and grounding. "Unbelievable."
---
Hank strode through the automatic glass doors of the hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils, the cool air a stark contrast to the warm San Diego afternoon he’d left behind. His mind was focused, a determined set to his jaw. Mona needed him. He’d barely taken five steps across the polished linoleum when a uniformed security officer, stout and officious with a neatly trimmed mustache, stepped directly into his path, holding up a hand like a traffic cop halting rush hour.
“Sorry, sir,” the officer stated, his tone polite but firm, his eyes conveying a practiced neutrality that brooked no argument. “We’ve received instructions. You are not permitted to enter the hospital premises at this time.”
Hank stopped, blinking. Denied access? After everything? A flicker of disbelief, quickly followed by a surge of irritation, tightened his chest. “Well, that’s interesting,” Hank replied, his voice dangerously smooth, deceptively calm. He met the officer’s gaze squarely. “Do you happen to know why I’m here?”
The officer shifted his weight slightly, shaking his head. “No, sir. My instructions are clear. The order came directly from Dr. Harrison.”
Harrison. Hank’s jaw clenched. That arrogant prick. Of course. He remembered the doctor’s dismissive attitude towards Mona, his condescending remarks. This felt personal, petty. Hank nodded slowly, his mind already calculating angles. “Very well,” he said, letting out a slow breath. “In that case, I guess we should probably involve the police. Obstruction, possibly unlawful detainment of a minor I’m in the process of adopting…” He let the words hang, pulling out his sleek cellphone, his thumb hovering over the keypad as if ready to dial 911.
The officer’s professional composure wavered slightly. His eyes darted nervously towards the main entrance. “Sir, I really have to ask you to step outside the building while this is sorted out,” he insisted, his voice losing some of its earlier firmness.
Hank gave a curt nod. Fine. He’d play this game, but not for long. He turned sharply and walked back out through the revolving doors, the warm sunlight hitting his face. He found a concrete bench near the entrance and sat down, shaking his head in frustration. He immediately dialed Constance’s number.
“Hi lover,” her voice answered, warm and instantly soothing, a stark contrast to the bureaucratic chill inside. Hank smirked despite his annoyance.
“Constance,” he began, getting straight to the point, “what kind of pull do you have with St. Jude’s Hospital Administration?”
He could almost hear her smile through the phone. “Some, why do you ask, my love? Trouble already?”
“You could say that,” Hank replied dryly. “I was just denied access to the hospital. That prick, Dr. Harrison, the one handling Mona’s case? He’s blocking me from going in to get her.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a dangerous silence. “Really?” Constance’s voice was suddenly glacial. “That man is interfering with my future daughter’s well-being? Give me five minutes, Hank. Let me make a call.”
“Okay, I’ll wait,” he said, a grim satisfaction settling in. He knew Constance’s influence wasn’t insignificant. He ended the call and leaned back against the bench, shaking his head again. He glanced up idly towards the hospital roof, scanning the bland architecture… and then he saw them. Three figures, standing near the edge, almost blending into the structure, yet radiating an undeniable, otherworldly presence. He smirked. Elves.
“You going to help me, girls?” he asked, his voice low, pitched just for them, knowing their enhanced hearing would catch it easily.
One figure detached itself from the group. The air beside Hank shimmered for a heartbeat, and then she was there, standing beside the bench with the silent grace of a predator. He smiled, recognizing her instantly. “Liara,” he greeted, the name feeling familiar on his tongue.
Her skin was the deep, rich brown of fertile earth at dusk, a stunning contrast to the cascade of hair the color of freshly spilled blood that flowed down her back. Her eyes, a warm, intense brown, held the wisdom of ages and a fierce loyalty that resonated from her very being.
“Hank,” she acknowledged, her voice a low, melodic murmur, like distant drums. “We are always here. Watching.” She tilted her head slightly. “Mona is strong. We will ensure the humans do not continue their needless tests on her. After all,” she added, a faint smile touching her lips as she placed a warm hand gently on his forearm, “she is our daughter too, now.”
The simple affirmation, the acceptance of Mona into their ancient fold, sent a wave of warmth through Hank. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Liara smiled, a flash of fierce protectiveness in her eyes, and then, as seamlessly as she had appeared, she dissolved back into the ambient light, rejoining her sisters on the rooftop, unseen by the scattering of humans below.
Just then, Hank’s phone rang again. He answered immediately. “What do you know, Constance?” he asked, anticipating good news.
“Consider it handled,” Constance purred, satisfaction evident in her voice. “In about sixty seconds, a car is pulling up. Follow the man inside. He has… instructions.”
Hank nodded, already rising from the bench. “Alright. And the security guard? Harrison?”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Constance said, a distinct smile audible in her voice. “Let’s just say Dr. Harrison is about to have a very unpleasant meeting with the hospital board regarding certain… ethical oversights. And the guard will be otherwise occupied.”
Hank smirked. “Thank you, baby.”
“Hank,” she said, her voice softening, “go get our daughter.”
He smiled, the simple command resonating deep within him. Our daughter. Yes. All his girls, human and elven, were on his side, united in this. Just as Constance had predicted, a sleek, black Cadillac Escalade pulled smoothly up to the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the bright morning sun. The passenger door opened, and a man in an impeccably tailored suit stepped out, nodding respectfully to Hank. The man didn't say a word, just gestured smoothly towards the hospital's main entrance. Hank readily accepted the silent invitation, falling into step behind the man's confident stride. He passed the security guard who had stopped him earlier; the guard now simply nodded, stepping aside as Hank followed the suited man through the automatic glass doors and into the hospital's cool interior, ready to retrieve his daughter.
