Chapter 6 - REUNION IN THE DARKWren dropped the bent IV pole. Her chest heaved, her hands trembling as she looked down at the unconscious man at her feet. Patch trotted back to her side, his tail giving a single, rigid wag before he pressed his scarred head against her thigh, exactly as he had done in the prison visiting room four years ago.
"Good boy, Patch," she whispered, her voice cracking.
She stepped over the fallen hitman and pushed open the heavy wooden door to Room 412.
Inside, the lights were off, illuminated only by the pale amber glow of the city streetlights filtering through the blinds. On the bed, Viktor Vance sat upright, one hand clutching his bandaged abdomen, the other resting calmly on the bedside table where a heavy revolver lay within easy reach.
He looked at Wren—at her hospital scrubs, her tense posture, and the scarred dog standing protectively at her heels.
A slow, grim smile touched the corners of Viktor’s battered mouth.
"Well," Viktor rasped, his voice cutting through the hum of the heart monitor. "If it isn't the ghost of St. Ambrose. I wondered when you'd finally come to collect your interest."
Wren stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She didn't look like the terrified twenty-one-year-old girl they had dragged away in handcuffs seven years ago. Her eyes were hard, clear, and burning with a cold, unforgiving fire.
"You ruined my life, Viktor," Wren said, walking slowly toward the bed until she stood just out of arm's reach. "You and your syndicate murdered Marisol Cade, and you let me take the fall so your brother could run your operations while you laid low."
Viktor let out a dry, rattling cough that ended in a wince of pain. He pressed his hand harder against his bandaged wound.
"My brother didn't run anything," Viktor corrected, his pale blue eyes locking onto hers. "Julian is a coward. He’s the one who put the bullet in me tonight because I refused to hand over the old ledgers—the very ledgers Marisol tried to give you the night she died."
Wren froze. "What did you say?"
"Marisol wasn't just an accountant," Viktor said, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "She was my daughter. She found out Julian was skimming money from the syndicate to build his own crew. She tried to run with the proof to the only person in this hospital she trusted—a young nurse who actually cared about the patients on the south side. You."
The room seemed to tilt on its axis. Seven years of cold, bitter hatred toward the man on the bed suddenly fractured, revealing a much darker, much more twisted truth beneath.
"You knew?" Wren whispered, her voice trembling. "All this time... you knew I was innocent?"
"I couldn't stop them from framing you without signing your death warrant," Viktor said, his eyes glazing slightly as blood began to seep through his fresh stitches. "Julian had the entire precinct in his pocket. The only way to keep you alive was to let them lock you away in Millbrook—where my enemies couldn't reach you, and where my own people wouldn't look twice."
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He lifted his chin, gesturing faintly toward the dog standing beside Wren.
"Why do you think Patch was there?" Viktor asked softly. "I bought that rescue network five years ago. I made sure every animal that entered Millbrook passed through your cell block. I couldn't protect you with my own hands, Wren... so I sent the only thing I had left that knew how to guard a ghost."
