Chapter 8 - The Awakening
Vincent tore open the door of his study and stormed up the grand staircase, his heavy footsteps echoing like thunder through the mansion. Frank followed right behind him.
Vincent slammed open the door to Noah’s room.
Claire was standing by the window. Lily was sitting on the bed, holding Noah’s hand.
Noah sat on the edge of the bed. Because he hadn't taken the poisoned milk that morning, his eyes were completely clear, his posture upright, his small face vibrant and full of life.
Vincent stopped in the middle of the room. He dropped to his knees, staring at his son, his body shaking violently as tears streamed down his face.
"Noah..." Vincent choked out, reaching a trembling hand toward his boy. "My baby... my sweet boy..."
Noah looked at his father. For four years, he had seen his father as a terrifying, distant figure who stared at him with sadness. But now, he saw a man broken by love.
Noah took a slow, deep breath. He stood up from the bed, took three small steps forward, and reached out his tiny hand, gently wiping a tear from Vincent’s cheek.
And then, in the silent room, Noah opened his mouth.
"Dad," Noah whispered.
The word was small, delicate, and imperfect, but it hit Vincent Callahan like a physical blow to the chest.
Vincent collapsed forward, burying his face in his seven-year-old son's neck, sobbing uncontrollably, wrapping his powerful arms around the boy, holding him tight enough to fuse their souls together.
"You hear me," Vincent sobbed, kissing Noah’s hair, his face, his hands over and over again. "You hear me... my boy can hear me..."
"He hears everything, Mr. Callahan," Claire said softly, tears running down her own cheeks as she watched the father and son reunite. "He’s been trapped inside his own mind, terrified to speak because Margaret told him you would send him away if he wasn't sick."
Vincent looked up at Claire from the floor. The rage in his eyes was instantly tempered by an overwhelming, eternal gratitude.
"You saved him," Vincent rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "You saved my son."
"Lily helped," Claire smiled through her tears, pulling her daughter close. "She sang to him."
Vincent stood up, holding Noah tightly in his arms, turning his gaze toward Frank, who stood in the doorway. The grief on Vincent’s face hardened back into absolute, terrifying mob authority.
"Frank," Vincent commanded, his voice cold as arctic ice. "Dr. Bell and Margaret are coming upstairs for Noah’s evening check-up in ten minutes. The Commission bosses will be arriving downstairs in thirty minutes."
"What are your orders, Boss?" Frank asked, his hand resting on his weapon.
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Vincent looked at his son, then looked at Claire.
"We’re going to hold a medical trial," Vincent whispered, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips. "And the verdict has already been passed."
