They were about to leave for Brooklyn when a man in a sharp suit approached them. “Excuse me, miss,” he said, addressing Amara directly. “I’m Mr. Coleman’s assistant. He asked me to find you.” Amara’s heart skipped a beat. She was taken to a quieter area of the airport where Richard lay in a hospital bed, surrounded by medical personnel.

Despite the oxygen mask and IV lines, Richard’s eyes were alert, filled with an unexpected warmth that belied his icy reputation. He gestured for the mask to be removed and beckoned Amara closer. “You saved me, young lady,” he said, his voice hoarse but sincere. “I owe you my life.”

Amara shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just did what I could.”