"— the Central City Police Department responded to a reported robbery at a downtown firearms retailer this morning, arriving on scene within minutes—"
"Elizabeth." Danton stood up from his chair. "This is boring. Let me find you something better."
"I want to watch the news."
She moved the remote control under her blanket with the smooth efficiency of someone who had been married long enough to anticipate the next move.
Danton's mouth twitched. He wanted to laugh, which he hadn't expected to feel right now. He also wanted to put his fist through the television, which he had expected.
The anchor continued, unmoved.
"After investigation, the shop owner confirmed the incident was the result of a misunderstanding. He had mistaken a customer for a robber due to the customer's intimidating appearance. The initial report has been classified as unfounded. No evidence of a robbery, brawl, or break-in was found at the scene."
"The shop owner has been issued a fine of five thousand dollars for filing a false report. The Central City Police Department reminds residents that emergency reports are a serious matter. False reports made in error or in bad faith carry significant financial penalties, and in egregious cases, criminal liability."
"In other news—"
Elizabeth looked sideways at Danton. He was staring at the screen with an expression she couldn't fully categorize — confusion, disbelief, and something that might have been relief, all competing for the same square inch of his face.
"Mr. Danton." She tried not to smile. "I thought you said this was boring."
He didn't answer. His mind was running calculations that had nothing to do with the hospital room.
The owner told the police it was a false alarm. Paid a five-thousand-dollar fine rather than file a real report. He ran through the possibilities. Afraid of retaliation? Someone got to him first? Or—
He didn't have an answer. But Elizabeth didn't know about the gun shop, and the news was already moving on to something else, and for now that was enough.
"Elizabeth," he said finally. "I have to go soon."
"Then come here first." She held out her arms. "Hug before you leave."
"Just a few more minutes—"
"Now, Danton."
He sat on the edge of the bed and held her. After a moment he pulled back to look at her properly, the way he'd been doing every visit — checking, cataloguing, monitoring the small daily changes in the way a researcher can't help but monitor things.
He paused.
"Elizabeth. Your color is better."
"Is it?" She touched her own cheek.
"It is." He looked more carefully. "You actually look better than yesterday."
She made a noncommittal sound and didn't argue.
Three floors below, sitting on a bench in the hospital's side garden with his phone face-down in his lap, Jude rubbed the goosebumps off his forearms.
"I should not have kept the feed open through the hug," he said to no one in particular. "That's on me."
"Boss, where next, meow?"
"Let's think through this properly." He turned the phone over and stared at it. "I already checked. The healing item can significantly stabilize Elizabeth's condition — she's not in immediate danger anymore. But it can't cure her. The system's status-removal items can't touch it either, and life-restoration compounds are the same." He exhaled. "Genetic degenerative conditions seem to register as part of the original biological state. Same limitation as Freeze, Croc, Solomon — you can treat the symptoms, you can buy time, but you can't rewrite the underlying cause."
"Then what does she need, meow?"
"A heart transplant."
He tapped the motorcycle's chassis. "Satsuki. Tell me everything about Danton Black's research."
The response was immediate. "Danton Black. Biology and medicine, doctorate completed ahead of schedule. Joined the medical research division of Stagg Industries shortly after. His lead project: human cell cloning and organ transplantation technology. He was the principal researcher. According to internal communications I've recovered, the project was progressing significantly ahead of projections."
"Was," Jude repeated.
"Stagg Industries terminated his employment four weeks ago. All patents and intellectual property generated during his tenure — including the cell cloning and organ transplantation work — have been registered under Simon Stagg's name and transferred to the company's portfolio."
Jude sat with that for a moment.
Only I can save her. That was what Danton had said, weeks ago, standing at the cart with his eyes too bright and his hands too still. She can only rely on me. Not desperation — certainty. The certainty of someone who had built the exact tool needed to solve the exact problem in front of him, and had watched someone else take it.
"The Stagg Annual Contribution Award ceremony," Jude said. He'd seen the headline that morning on his phone. "They're about to publicly honor him for it."
"Correct. The ceremony is scheduled for this afternoon."
"Right." He put his phone away. "So. Stagg steals the research, registers the patents, fires the man who built it, and is about to receive a public commendation for someone else's decade of work. And Danton, who designed this technology specifically to save his wife, now has no legal claim to it and no access to it." He paused. "That's an exceptionally tidy form of cruelty."
"Simon Stagg has been party to over two hundred lawsuits," Satsuki continued. "The majority involve intellectual property and patent disputes. Almost all plaintiffs are former Stagg Industries employees. The company's legal team and resource base have allowed them to prevail in most cases. The patents from this category alone have generated several billion dollars in profit."
"And Danton filed one of those suits."
"He did. He filed before he was ready. Without supporting evidence or representation capable of countering Stagg's legal infrastructure, the case is not winnable in its current form."
"No one told him to go alone." Jude stood up from the bench. "Stagg's done this over two hundred times — that means there's a pattern. There are loopholes. There are plaintiffs who came close, cases that were nearly successful, procedural errors in how the patents were registered." He started walking. "Find me everything. Every prior case. Every near-miss. Every filing irregularity."
"Already running."
"Stagg deserves whatever's coming to him," Jude said, mostly to himself. "But I can't let Danton be the one to deliver it. Not this afternoon. Not with twelve pistols and nowhere to go after."
He reached the motorcycle, swung a leg over.
"Elizabeth would be a widow before the week was out. And she's already had enough taken from her."
"How do you plan to stop him?"
Jude thought about it for a moment.
"By giving him something better to do."
He pulled out onto the street, pointed the motorcycle toward the city center, and opened the throttle.