I nodded back, my eyes stinging with tears of relief.

We walked out of the medical board building and into the bright afternoon sun.

“How does it feel?” I asked him.

“Like I can breathe again,” Liam said, looking up at the sky. “I have a shift at the hospital tomorrow morning.”

“The ER?”

“The ER,” he said. “Where I belong.”

“I’m proud of you, Liam,” I said.

“I didn’t do this, Claire,” he said, turning to me. “You did. You faced him.”

“We faced him,” I said.

Three months later, I sat in the courtroom for Ethan’s sentencing.

The room was packed with reporters, lawyers, and citizens who had been affected by the syndicate’s actions.

Ethan sat at the defense table, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit.

His hair was unkempt, his face hollow and gray.

He didn’t look at me when I walked in, but his jaw clenched as I took my seat in the front row.

The judge, a stern woman with sharp eyes, looked down from her bench.