The Uber was five minutes away. Adria stood by the valet stand, shivering, but then a wave of nausea rolled over her so powerfully she doubled over. The soup. The stress. The look in Damon's eyes.

She turned and ran back into the hotel lobby, ignoring the startled look of the doorman. She sprinted toward the restrooms down the east corridor.

She didn't make it to the door. The sound of heavy footsteps and a familiar, booming voice made her freeze.

She ducked into a small alcove that housed a vending machine, pressing her back against the cold wall. Her heart was thudding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

It was Damon. He was pacing in the corridor, his back to her. He was on the phone again.

"Campbell! I told you a thousand times!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the marble floors. He sounded frantic. Angry.

Adria clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Stay right where you are," Damon barked. "I already called the hospital. They're ready for you."

Hospital? Adria's mind raced. Was Campbell sick? Was she pregnant? The thought made her knees buckle.

Damon ran a hand through his hair, his posture slumping. His voice dropped, losing the anger, replaced by a tone Adria remembered from late nights in their apartment. A tone of care.

"I'm coming over now," he said. "Don't be afraid."

Don't be afraid.

The words shattered Adria.

She slid down the wall, her legs giving out. He was yelling because he was worried. He was rushing to her side. He was comforting her.

He loves her. The realization was a final, crushing weight. All the hostility at dinner, the cold stares-it was just frustration. At the end of the day, Campbell was the one he ran to. Campbell was the one he told not to be afraid.

Damon hung up the phone. He kicked the wall, a violent thud that made Adria jump, then turned and strode away toward the exit, his footsteps fading.

Adria waited until silence returned before she dragged herself up. She stumbled into the restroom and locked herself in the handicap stall.

She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and dry heaved. Nothing came up but acid and bile. Her body was rejecting the emotional trauma, trying to purge a pain that was embedded in her soul.

Her vision began to tunnel. Black spots danced at the edges of her sight. Her hands went numb, the tingling spreading up her arms. A panic attack. A bad one.

She fumbled with her clutch, her fingers clumsy and stiff. She poured three pills into her palm-Xanax. She swallowed them dry, the bitter chalky taste sticking to her tongue.

She curled into a ball on the cold tile floor, hugging her knees. The smell of industrial cleaner filled her nose, reminding her of the hospital room in Boston. Alone. Bleeding. Dying.

"Why didn't you want me?" The child's voice whispered again.

"I did," she sobbed silently, rocking back and forth. "I wanted you so much."

She stayed there for twenty minutes until the drugs began to chemically force her heart rate down. The numbness retreated, replaced by a hollow, cold void. This was the armor. A chemical blanket that smothered the fear, but also the joy, leaving only a vast, empty calm. It was in this state that she could function. It was in this state that Dr. Barr could take over from the shattered woman on the floor.

She stood up. She walked to the sink. The woman in the mirror looked like a corpse. Pale skin, red-rimmed eyes, lips bitten raw.

She turned on the cold water and splashed her face. She took out her lipstick and applied it like war paint. She dusted powder over the tear tracks.

When she looked in the mirror again, Dr. Adria Barr stared back. Cold. Detached. Unbreakable.

Her phone buzzed. Adonis. Car is here.

Coming.

She walked out of the hotel, her head held high. She got into the car and didn't look back.

As her car pulled away, a red Ferrari roared out of the parking lot, tires screeching, heading in the opposite direction. Toward the city. Toward Campbell.

Adria closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of activity. Adria moved like an automaton, throwing clothes into her suitcase. She didn't fold anything. She just needed to be gone.

Her phone lit up on the bed. A news notification.

BREAKING: Actress Campbell Lowe involved in minor collision. Hansen Heir spotted rushing into Lenox Hill ER.

Adria picked up the phone. The photo was blurry, taken from a distance. It showed Damon, his tuxedo jacket gone, carrying Campbell in his arms toward the emergency entrance. It looked romantic. Heroic.

Adria let out a short, dry laugh. It sounded like something breaking.

Her phone rang. Mother.

She answered, putting it on speaker as she zipped the suitcase.

"Adria! Where are you?" Mrs. Barr's voice was shrill. "You left without saying goodbye to Mrs. Hansen. And where is Damon? People are talking."

"He's at the hospital," Adria said, her voice flat. "With Campbell."

"Oh," her mother paused. "Well, that girl always was dramatic. But really, Adria, you need to fight for your place. You just ran away. It makes you look weak."

Weak.

Adria looked at her shaking hands. She looked at the scars on her soul that her mother couldn't see.

"Goodbye, Mother," Adria said. She hung up. She had never hung up on her mother before.

She grabbed her bag and walked out.

At Lenox Hill Hospital, the fluorescent lights hummed with an irritating buzz.

Damon stood in the private trauma room, staring at Campbell. She was sitting on the bed, holding a tissue to her nose. There was a small scratch on her cheek. A Band-Aid would have sufficed.

"My neck hurts, Damon," she whined, reaching for him. "I think I have whiplash."

Damon looked at her with pure, unadulterated loathing. "You drove your car into a parked fire hydrant at five miles an hour, Campbell. The airbags didn't even deploy."

"I was upset!" she cried. "Because of her!"

Damon's personal assistant, a sharp-faced man named Ken, hurried into the room. He looked nervous.

"Mr. Hansen," Ken whispered. "I have the information."

Damon turned away from Campbell instantly. "Tell me."

"She changed her ticket," Ken said. "She's on the 6:00 AM flight to Nanxi City. It just took off."

Damon felt the floor drop out from under him. Gone. She was gone again.

He spun around, grabbing his jacket off the chair.

"Damon? Where are you going?" Campbell screeched. "You can't leave me!"

Damon stopped at the door. He looked back at her. "Get an Uber, Campbell. Or call your agent. I don't care."

"If you walk out that door, I'll tell the press you abandoned me!"

"Tell them whatever you want," Damon said, his voice deadly calm. "I'm done."

He walked out, leaving her screaming his name.

He pulled out his phone as he strode down the hospital corridor, dialing a number he knew by heart.

"Prep the Gulfstream," he ordered. "I'm going to Nanxi City. File a flight plan. Now."

He hung up and dialed again.

"Chief Harrell."

The voice on the other end was groggy. "Hansen? It's 1 AM in Nanxi City."

"That transfer request," Damon said, pushing through the hospital doors into the cool night air. "I'm calling in a favor. I want Station 19."

There was a pause. "Station 19? The penal colony? Are you sure? That's a political minefield, Hansen, even for you."

"I don't care," Damon said, getting into his car. He slammed the door and ignited the engine. "I want the transfer effective immediately."

"Okay," Harrell sighed. "Welcome to the rainy city."

Damon peeled out of the parking lot, the engine roaring. He looked up at the sky, where the first light of dawn was breaking.

Run all you want, Adria, he thought, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his leather gloves creaked. I'll chase you to the ends of the earth.

The rain in Nanxi City wasn't like the rain in New York. It was a constant, grey mist that soaked into your bones. Adria watched it streak against the window of her taxi as she left Nanxi City International Airport.

It felt right. It felt like the world was crying so she didn't have to.

The hospital had arranged a temporary apartment for her in Belltown. It was modern, sterile, and cold. Adria dropped her bags in the middle of the living room. The silence was absolute.

She walked to the window. The Sky Spire poked through the low-hanging clouds like a syringe.

New city. New life. No Damon.

She took out her phone. She opened her contacts and scrolled to "Damon." Her thumb hovered over the 'Block' button. She held it there for a long time, her heart aching.

She couldn't do it. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't sever the last digital thread. Instead, she edited the name.

Stranger.

She tossed the phone onto the couch and went to unpack.

At a private airfield outside the city, the private jet taxied to a halt. A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac, windshield wipers slapping rhythmically.

Damon descended the stairs, ignoring the umbrella the driver offered. He let the rain hit his face. It cooled the burning rage that had been fueling him for six hours.

"Take me to Headquarters," he said, sliding into the back seat.

An hour later, he was standing in Chief Harrell's office. Harrell was a mountain of a man with a grey mustache. He looked at Damon with skepticism.

"You know they eat captains for breakfast at 19, right?" Harrell asked, handing over a badge.

Damon took the badge. "I'm not hungry."

He drove himself to the station. Station 19 was an old brick building in a rougher part of town. It looked like a fortress.

Inside, the atmosphere was rowdy. In the beanbag room, a group of firefighters were laughing. A young guy, Landon, was doing an impression of a man with a limp.

"And then he said, 'Walk it off!'" Landon crowed. The room erupted in laughter.

The door banged open.

Damon stood there. He was wearing his dress blues, the medals on his chest catching the light. He looked like a recruiting poster for war.

The laughter died instantly.

Damon walked into the room. He didn't smile. He didn't introduce himself. He just scanned them, cataloging weaknesses.

"I'm Captain Hansen," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried to the back of the room. "And this looks like a daycare center, not a fire station."

A burly firefighter crossed his arms. "We heard we were getting a rich kid. Didn't know he came with an attitude."

Damon walked right up to him. He was two inches taller. "Ten minutes. Full gear. Bunker drills."

"It's pouring rain out there," Landon protested.

Damon turned his head slowly. "Does fire take a day off when it rains, probie?"

Silence.

"Move," Damon barked.

They moved.

Damon walked into the Captain's office and shut the door. The blinds were closed. He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes. His hand-the one he had cut-throbbed under the fresh bandage.

He pulled out his phone. He stared at Adria's number.

He wanted to call her. He wanted to tell her he was here, in her city, breathing her air. But fear, cold and unfamiliar, gripped him. If he called, she might run again. And he was running out of places to chase her.

He put the phone down, face down, on the desk.

"Soon," he whispered to the empty room.