Rescuers, arriving at the scene, were greeted by the mangled door.

When they pried it open, their faces registered sheer astonishment.

Conventional wisdom held that in a crash, a driver’s instinct might swerve the vehicle.

Contrary to that, the driver in front of them had done the opposite and taken the impact head-on.

Leonel’s thighs were drenched in blood, the crimson stark against the grey fabric of his suit, a grisly sight.

His legs, trapped and immobile, continued to bleed.

Propped against the seat, Leonel’s voice was faint.

“My wife, my daughter-where are they?”

Recognized immediately by the rescue team as the well-known Leonel Douglas from Duefron, they hastened to his aid.

“They’re safe,” they assured him.

a minor bruise; she’s just passed

your daughter is

Don’t worry, Mr. Douglas.

Leonel’s brow as he processed their

upon learning Alexis was

body surrendered to exhaustion, and his mind

his trapped legs, a searing agony radiated through him, a pain beyond what most could withstand, and it sent him spiraling into

his daughter with

murmur escaped

“Da—”

his ears, Leonel’s thoughts grew

behind the darkness, he imagined the night sky

suddenly flooded in-him and Alexis, years ago, stretched out on the grass, sharing a quiet moment

had blazed across the

whispered then, “What do you think of the name Cordelia? I think it’s beautiful, and I’d like to

towered

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