Page 52 of The Silent War
I ended the call before they could answer.
The hallway feed glowed on my other screen. Four angles on the door to her room. Alexander was still inside. His security lined the corridor, pretending they belonged here.
I hated that I couldn’t hear the conversation. Hated that I wasn’t watching the nurse press the medication into her line. My grip tightened against the edge of the console.
I could tap into her phone. Activate the microphone. I almost did it, opened the mirror app.
But the door opened.
Alexander stepped out, flanked by four of his men. They didn’t look left or right, just moved as a wall down the corridor.
My jaw locked.
Every muscle in me tightened with the urge to break his teeth in. To cut out his tongue so he couldn’t say another word to her.
The second the hall cleared, I was moving.
I pushed into her room without knocking.
Emilia was sitting half-upright, eyes too bright, the kind of brightness that came from holding back tears. She tried to smooth her expression when she saw me, but she couldn’t hide it.
Fury tore through me. I should have listened.
“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant.
She blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Pretend you’re fine.”
Her lips parted, then closed. She looked away, but not before I saw the flicker—relief. She wasn’t pretending with me. Not completely. It was progress.
I crossed the room, set a coffee on the table beside her. My coffee. Black, hot, exactly how she drank it when she stole mine.
Her fingers hesitated before reaching for it.
“It’s weird,” she admitted softly. “Seeing you again. This much.”
Something sharp cut through me. This much. Like she was still trying to measure me against distance.
“You’ve had your medication?” I asked.
She frowned. “I think so. They gave me something earlier.”
Rage slid cold through my veins.She thinks.The staff didn’t even tell her what they pushed into her line.
“It’s just painkillers, Luca. Don’t be too concerned.”
Her tone was gentle, almost teasing, because she knew. She could read me as easily as she always had.
“I’m worried about you,” I said, checking the temperature of her room on my phone.
Dropped it by two degrees. Adjusted the airflow to keep it quiet. Anything to make sure she didn’t overheat and wake with a headache.
She shifted, tried to sit up more, and I was already there. My hand at her back, steady, easing her higher against the pillows.
“Luca…” she sighed. “You don’t have to be here every day.”
“I do.”
