Lightpons Private Hospital. VIP Wing.
"Mr. Croker? Mr. Croker!"
The voices pulled Charlie back from the abyss. He gasped, his eyes snapping open. The sensation of drowning—the water filling his lungs, the weight of the gold dragging him down—was so visceral he flailed, trying to break the surface.
"Mr. Croker, it's okay! You were just having a nightmare."
Charlie blinked, his vision clearing. He wasn't in a canal. He was in his hospital bed. Several nurses were hovering over him, concern etched on their faces.
His throat felt like sandpaper. "Doctor... my wife... where is she?"
The nurses exchanged confused glances.
"Wife?" a pretty brunette nurse asked gently. "Mr. Croker, your file says you're single."
"My wife..." Charlie rasped, panic still clawing at his chest. "Save her... she's drowning..."
The nightmare hadn't fully released its grip. The memory of Stella sinking into the dark water was more real than the sterile white room around him.
A spunky Black nurse, Lena, smirked and nudged her colleague. "Mr. Croker, what's your wife's name? We can check the system."
"Lena!" her friend hissed, knowing they shouldn't tease VIP patients. But Charlie was too delirious to notice.
"Stella..." Charlie whispered, his voice cracking. "Stella Croker..."
The nurses paused. Realization dawned on two of them. They shared a knowing look and quietly ushered the group out of the room, leaving Charlie to stabilize.
Once in the hallway, the gossip started immediately.
"Stella Croker?" the first nurse giggled. "He must mean that blonde woman who visited him last week. Miss Bridger, right?"
"That's her," another confirmed. "I saw her twice. No ring on her finger. And she's definitely not a Croker."
Lena grinned. "So it's unrequited love? Poor guy is dreaming about marrying her while he's laid up here alone."
"Tragic," the first nurse sighed theatrically. "Rich, handsome, but can't get the girl."
Talking and laughing, the group moved toward the nurses' station for their break. It was past midnight; the floor was quiet, and Charlie's vitals were stable.
They didn't notice the faint clink from the end of the hall.
Inside the fourth-floor men's restroom, a grappling hook had just cleared the open window sill. The metal claws bit into the frame with a soft scrape.
Two minutes later, a figure pulled himself up over the ledge.
Hunter Sun, dressed in a stolen doctor's coat and surgical mask, slipped inside.
Room 404.
Charlie lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The shame of his outburst was starting to set in. He had screamed for a wife he didn't have, exposing his deepest, most pathetic desire to the staff.
He closed his eyes, trying to force himself back to sleep, desperate to return to the first part of the dream—the part where he and Stella were happy in Venice.
But sleep wouldn't come. His senses were pricking, alert.
Click.
The door handle turned.
In the silence of the VIP wing, the sound was deafening.
Charlie opened his eyes.
A tall figure walked into the room. White coat. Mask. Stethoscope.
But something was wrong.
Charlie had spent his life reading people. He knew how doctors moved—brisk, tired, efficient. This man moved like a predator. Fluid. Silent.
And his eyes... above the mask, those eyes were cold. Dead.
He's not a doctor, Charlie's instincts screamed. The coat is too tight across the shoulders. He's wearing a tactical shirt underneath.
Assassin.
Adrenaline flooded Charlie's system. He lunged for the panic button on the bedside rail.
Too late.
Hunter didn't say a word. He didn't hesitate.
His hand moved to the small of his back. In one smooth motion, the suppressed pistol appeared.
Charlie's finger was inches from the button when he saw the muzzle flash.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Three shots.
Two rounds slammed into Charlie's chest, punching through his ribs. The third drilled cleanly into the center of his forehead.
Charlie Croker's head snapped back against the pillow. His hand fell limp, inches from salvation.
The "Gentleman Thief" was dead before he could even blink.
Hunter lowered the weapon. He didn't check for a pulse. At this range, with his [Firearms LV4] skill, a headshot was a guarantee.
He turned on his heel and walked out.
In the hallway, he passed the group of nurses returning from their break. He nodded politely at Lena.
"Doctor," she smiled back, not recognizing him behind the mask.
Hunter walked calmly into the restroom. He locked the door, holstered the weapon in his Inventory, and grabbed the rappelling rope.
He vaulted out the window into the night.
Minutes later, alarms began to blare inside the hospital as a nurse entered Room 404 for a routine check and found the bloodbath.
But the ghost was already gone.
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