"Two men from the National Bureau of Security were here yesterday, asking about you."
-------------------------------
"No way, really?"
Claws dug into the cold concrete as Miriam Schlinger, the former hospital director of Eichwald Center of Neurology and Psyche, stared out the window, her features a mask of disbelief warring with shock.
"How did it happen?"
At the other end of the line, Martha Hillard clicked with her tongue in displeasure.
"What's with this barrage of questions? I thought that you were mentally prepared."
"I was. I am!" Miriam blurted out. She wiped at the cold sweat beading on her forehead, trying her best to sound natural and calm. "I am just surprised. Wow. Martha, I cannot even begin to thank you."
"Thank me with a sample of LK-92," Martha quipped. "We all have waited fourteen years to no avail. Honestly, everyone is losing their trust in Atticus Bates. This is your chance to shine, Miriam. You better take this golden opportunity and fly with it."
Miriam tore her gaze from the window, the cityscape of Eichwald blurring as she began a restless circuit around her spacious three-bedroom apartment.
"But what about Atticus Bates?"
"What about him?" came the light reply. "He is practically a dead man. What are you so worried about?"
Frustration gnawed at Miriam. How many times had she pleaded with Atticus to join DOTTE, the Dawn of the Third Evolution project, permanently? Yet, the man clung to his secrets like a miser to gold.
Dismissals were his only response, punctuated by demands for any scraps she might glean from Heinrich Krausser's old office. The memory of Atticus' ruthlessness reignited a spark of anger in her eyes as she stared daggers into the distance.
"You are right," Miriam decided. "He is a dead man. Thank you for the help, Martha. I will not disappoint the consortium at all!"
"You better don't," Martha chuckled. "After all, It was I who recommended you to DOTTE."
Even Miriam's fingers itched from excitement.
"Then... do I have access to his laboratory and all research results?"
"Not only that, Dear... we need you to come up with a summarized version of DOTTE's latest progress within a week. With no psychiatric hospital to weigh you down, this should be doable, yes?"
"Of course!" Miriam readily agreed, never mind that she had yet to step foot into Atticus' working space. She was no less a scientist than Atticus Bates. What Atticus started, she could easily continue.
After ordering the earliest ticket to the States the next day, Miriam went to sleep with a confident smile lacing her lips.
At the same time in a cozy small house approximately a hundred miles from Miriam's apartment, Julian Haas received a phone call from his old orphanage.
"Julian, how are you?" the orphanage director's soft voice rang out from his phone. "Have you recovered from your injuries?"
Julian had to smile when he heard the concern in the elderly man's voice.
"You know me, Mr. Brown."
His fingers traced the path across his arm and leg, where fractured bones kept him bedridden for more than a month. Barely two months passed, and his skin was all smooth and flawless again, devoid of any scar. It was as if he hadn't been caught in the blast at all.
"I heal quickly."
The elderly man inhaled a lungful of air before he exhaled out of relief.
"Well, that's good. By the way, the treats you sent over have arrived. The children are all very happy. What's with the many bouquets of flowers this year?"
Julian turned the speaker on and changed his clothes into a set of pajamas.
"They sent me a lot of flowers at the hospital. The fake flowers were too pretty to throw out, so I just sent them your way, hoping that you can utilize them somehow."
"Oh."
A tense silence stretched before the orphanage director cleared his throat, his voice laced with unease. "Julian, about your recent stay at the hospital..." He hesitated, then blurted out, "Two men from the National Bureau of Security were here yesterday, asking about you."
One of Julian's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Interesting. And what did you tell them about me?"
The director bristled slightly when hearing the caution in Julian's voice. "Just what's documented in your file, nothing more."
A slow smile spread across Julian's face. "Excellent."
The orphanage director did not quite agree with Julian's lax response to the news.
"Julian, you were an explosion victim," Mr. Brown said in an urgent tone. "Why would they investigate your background in detail? I think that they are suspecting you of a crime."
"Don't worry, Mr. Brown. Let them investigate. I can handle it well."
Mr. Brown sighed.
"Are you sure? Julian, it has been fourteen years..."
"Don't," Julian cut him off sharply, his voice a low growl. "Just... don't."
Mr. Brown flinched, understanding dawning in his eyes. Now that the Bureau was watching Julian's every movement, mentioning his past on an unsecured line was a colossal misstep. One wrong word could unravel everything. Shame flushed his cheeks. "Sorry, Julian. I didn't think properly."
"It's alright. I have to go now. Good night, Mr. Brown."
Julian hastily ended the phone call.
He casually threw his phone, letting it sail through the air before landing on the opposing couch with a silent thud. A soft groan escaped Julian as he stretched his limbs, his long and slender legs resting against an ottoman.
Slowly, the omega turned his head to look at a box of chocolate that stood on the coffee table, unopened. A metallic name card was sprawled on top of it, its surface glinting under the soft glow from the standing lamp.
Maybe he should find an excuse to meet Maximillian Grant again, if only to find out whether the bureau was hunting for the person who shot at Atticus Bates.