I never thought the last time I’d see my father smile would be under golden light, with a glass of wine raised and peace on his face.
The private banquet was quiet, refined. Just a few trusted officials, polished silver, and the low murmur of expensive conversation. My father sat at the head of the table, posture relaxed, eyes on me like he was trying to remember how to be proud. He looked more like the man I once imagined than the one I’d come to know. He lifted his glass. I mirrored him.
“To new beginnings,” he said.
He never finished the toast. His fingers slipped. Just a twitch at first. Barely visible. Then the glass tilted the wrong way, his grip lost, and it shattered against the floor with a sharp crack. He clutched the edge of the table like the air had gone thin, eyes wide with confusion. A heartbeat later, his legs gave out.
“Father?” I rose to my feet, voice catching in my throat Then he fell. A chair scraped. Someone gasped. The sound of the wine glass hitting the marble echoed through the room. I was already moving.
By the time I reached him, he was sprawled half-on, half-off the table. His skin was the wrong color. His lips already turning a shade of grey I hadn’t seen since my mother’s funeral.
“No—no, no, no,” I whispered, dropping to my knees. “Help! Someone call a doctor!”
His mouth moved, but the words didn’t form. Just a breath. My name, maybe. Or the beginning of it. I grabbed his hand. It felt cold and damp. “I’m here. Look at me. Just stay with me.”
He blinked once. Then again, slower. I pressed my forehead to his temple. “Don’t you dare leave me. You don’t get to disappear.” His chest jerked—once. Then nothing.
The silence was the worst part. The moment when the room forgot how to breathe. I looked up. No one moved. Some were still seated, others hovering behind their chairs like waiting would fix it. Jasper burst through the door seconds later, flanked by two guards.
He knelt beside me fast, his eyes sweeping the body before landing on my face. “What happened?” “He just… he just collapsed,” I said, voice hoarse. “He was fine. He was…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Jasper glanced up. “Clear the room. Now.” No one disobeyed.
The chairs scraped. Someone knocked over a glass. I barely noticed. My father’s head rested in my lap. His weight felt unfamiliar. I wasn’t ready to carry it.
A medic arrived. Jasper stepped back but never left my side. The woman dropped to her knees and checked his pulse, then opened her kit. She moved fast but not frantic. Her hands were sure. Her face was not.
I stared at her the whole time. She pulled out a small scanner and ran it across his skin. Then his lips. Then under his collar. Her expression changed. I didn’t blink.
“What is it?” She hesitated. Too long. Too careful.
“Tell me,” I snapped. She glanced at Jasper, then leaned in. Her voice was soft. Meant for me alone.
“It was targeted. Slow-release. And intentional.”