The Dead Don’t Collapse

The second the screams reached me, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

Someone collapsed.

At a Westwood event?

Nah. That wasn’t fate. That was a warning shot.

And it wasn’t meant for them.

It was meant for me.

I slipped out of the server room while the panic surged like a wave through the building. Guests screamed, heels clacked, security scrambled like headless roaches. I blended into the chaos, shoulders back, face calm, just another background blur in the panic parade.

In the center of the ballroom, a woman lay unconscious on the marble floor, dress soaked in red wine or blood—I couldn’t tell which from this distance. EMTs surrounded her. Damien was barking orders, jaw clenched, tie undone.

He looked like a man on the edge.

He wasn’t the only one.

I walked past the crowd, not stopping to look, not daring to linger. My mind was already spinning.

Who was she?

Why now?

And who the hell was sending a message loud enough to shake the entire room?

I made it to the rooftop garden before anyone could stop me. It was empty, quiet — a sanctuary above the noise, trimmed with glass and roses that smelled like money and lies.

I pulled out my phone, dialed Rina.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Please tell me you weren’t the one who caused the medical scene in the ballroom,” she said, voice flat.

“Wasn’t me.”

“Good. Because whoever collapsed down there wasn’t on my radar. Name’s Gloria Halston. Works PR. No criminal flags. No connections to Julius or the Project Artemis files.”

“Then why target her?” I asked.

Silence.

Then: “Because they weren’t targeting her. They were targeting everyone else.”

“What do you mean?”

Rina’s voice dropped low.

“Kid’s clean. Real clean. But I checked her background. Three months ago, she started dating a guy named Ethan Dorn. Small-time tech contractor. Guess who he works for?”

I already knew the answer.

“Westwood Global. Security Division.”

“And not just any security the Gala Tech team. Meaning he had access to the event’s backend servers. Same ones you hacked an hour ago.”

My stomach turned.

“Then whoever poisoned Gloria wasn’t trying to kill her.”

“They were silencing him. And sending you a message.”

I closed my eyes. Cold wind kissed my cheek, but I didn’t flinch.

“What else?”

Rina hesitated.

“I decrypted part of the Project Artemis directory. There’s another file in there. One with your old name.”

My heart stopped.

“Nia Morgan?”

“Yeah. With a timestamp from last week.”

“How the hell”

“I don’t know. But someone in that building knows you’re alive.”

I hung up and gripped the glass balcony.

So that was it.

I’d been careful. So damn careful. New face. New name. New identity built from the ground up. But someone still found me. And they weren’t just watching.

They were playing.

Hard.

And the worst part?

Damien was in the middle of it still asking questions, still looking at me like he was chasing a ghost he couldn’t name.

I didn’t have long.

I turned to go back inside only to find him already there, standing in the garden doorway, watching me.

“Was just about to come find you,” he said quietly.

I stayed calm. “Checking on the girl?”

“She’s stable. They think it was an allergic reaction. Food contamination.”

I raised a brow. “At a million-dollar event with custom menus?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Exactly.”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Testing the space between us like he wasn’t sure if it would hold.

“I need to ask you something.”

I didn’t move. “Go ahead.”

“What’s your real name?”

My spine stiffened, but I didn’t flinch.

“Elise Ward.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “No, it’s not.”

He stepped closer. “You’re too composed. Too polished. Like you’ve done this before. Like you’re trained.”

“I’ve worked in high-pressure PR for years,” I lied smoothly. “You learn to keep your face on.”

“And you know how to hack a private server?”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t back down. “You had a stolen keycard. You were in a restricted zone. You said you got lost, but you didn’t look lost. You looked like someone on a mission.”

“I told you”

“Stop lying.”

His voice cracked — not loud, not angry, but raw. Like he was trying to climb out of a memory that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

“I know your eyes,” he whispered.

I turned away.

“You remind me of someone,” he said. “Someone I loved. Someone I lost.”

I didn’t speak.

“I used to think I imagined it,” he continued. “That the guilt just made me see her in strangers. But then you walked into my office. And suddenly, the ghosts weren’t in my head anymore.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re seeing what you want to see.”

“No.” He grabbed my wrist gently, but firm. “I’m seeing the truth. And I don’t know who you really are, Elise, or what you’re doing here, but I will find out.”

I pulled my hand free. “Be careful what you dig up, Damien. Some graves don’t stay empty.”

We stared at each other for a long beat.

Then I walked away.

Because if I stayed one second longer, I might’ve told him the truth.

That I died for him.

And came back for me.

Later that night, I sat in my apartment staring at the drive.

I had names. I had evidence. But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

And now, the window was closing.

Whoever was cleaning house was getting closer.

Megan Cross cleared.

Gloria Halston poisoned.

Nia Morgan alive?

I wasn’t just a loose end.

I was the whole damn thread.

And if I didn’t burn them first, they’d bury me again.

But this time?

I wasn’t going quietly.