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.

minor bruise; she’s just

daughter

Don’t worry, Mr. Douglas.

down Leonel’s brow as he processed their

upon learning Alexis was out of the

surrendered to exhaustion, and his mind began

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

of a rescuer was Cordelia, his daughter with

escaped

“Da—”

Cordelia’s voice in his ears,

and behind the darkness, he imagined

stretched out on the grass, sharing a quiet moment under

the

think of the name Cordelia? I think it’s beautiful, and I’d like to name

towered

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