Chapter 34: 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝕸𝖆𝖋𝖎𝖆'𝖘 𝕹𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖘

☆☆𝕰𝕯𝕰𝕹 𝕴𝕹𝕿. 𝕳𝕺𝕾𝕻𝕴𝕿𝕬𝕷

𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖗 {𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉}– 6:45𝕻𝕸☆☆

The air is corroded with the smell of antiseptic, and the rhythmic beep of hearts monitor from different rooms.

On the private floor, her voice was heard, silk-wrapped steel.

“You think silence is loyalty. But to likes of Brain box, loyalty is just a tombstone waiting for one's name”

She paces slowly, voice laced with careful precision.

Still, no answer. She leans forward slightly, trying to pierce through that unshakable calm. It has been the case for over thirty minutes since she arrived.

Grinch wasn't bulging. His kind of silence was making her sweat, despite her years of experience.

She exhales, and her voice softens—not from care, but from manipulation. This is where she plants the quest.

“Let me help you file the report.

Attempted murder. Yes, and I'm sure it isn't a slap on the wrist—even in your world. It’s cleaner than betrayal, isn’t it?”

GRINCH didn't look at her.

Eyes glued on the ceiling, as he lay hooked to an IV drip.

His arm’s bandaged, skin slightly bruised and grayish under the light.

Breanna took another sharp breath, almost meditative.

His stillness was dominant.

Alert. Calculating—a true consigliere, stoic even on a hospital bed.

“Tell me Grinch... how does it feel—knowing you were just a shield? Collateral” she began again .

“That's bad, whenever the king feels threatened… he sacrifices the knight, and you still call it loyalty?”.

Grinch’s eyes flick to her, just for a second. Not enough to give ground. Just enough to remind her he’s listening.

She immediately switched her tone, softer now. Calculated.

“You're not a soldier, Grinch. You're the mind. The spine—the pillar of Brain box, but loyalty's only as good as the man you're bleeding for.”

Breanna moves more closer, her boots clicking like a metronome counting down something inevitable.

“Tell me all I need to know. Let me do what you won’t. Or hell—let’s file it clean, your loyalty isn't vested on. I’ve seen the look in your eyes, Grinch.”

“You’re just waiting for a reason to stop, and here I am—asking you to form an ally”.

She studies his face and steps back, watching for the flicker—just a twitch.

Grinch’s eyes don’t move, but his jaw tightens. She caught it.

She made to move in with the next blow, but he flipped her entire argument on its head, and hit her with a rhetorical question.

His voice was a deep, gravelled baritone that slices through the air like a blade.

“Tell me, detective…When did loyalty start sounding like weakness to people like you?”

Breanna freezes, caught off-guard not by the question—but the timing.

It was a strategist’s reply. Measured. Threatening without even raising its voice

A long silence follows.

The kind that eats pride. His gaze all the while pinning her in place, cold and regal.

Slowly he finally turns his head, speaking with a slow fire.

“If your own badge ordered a hit on you... won't you still be wearing it?”

Breanna straightens, jaw tight. She opens her mouth, then closes it.

That was no rhetorical jab. That was a mirror slammed in front of her face. One she didn’t expect from a man on painkillers and an IV drip.

Grinch turns his head back to the ceiling, closing his eyes again. As if her presence no longer demands attention.

On a second thought, he hits her with another face-slapping blow, that lands with absolute finality,

“Loyalty isn’t blindness. It’s choosing not to see…because you trust that person enough to lead you”

Breanna tilts her head slightly, then smirks—just a twitch of her lips. Impressed. Irritated. Intrigue.

“I know all that Grinch.” Breanna stated in a persuasive tone.

“But bear it in mind, you don’t have to die for a man who already decided how to bury you—To Brain box... you are just a vault. A shield. And whenever he feels unsafe, he will use you as his human bullet proof”

There was a long silence between them. The IV drip clicking for a while, until Grinch lets out an exhalation.

“I was never a shield, but if being a human bulletproof is what it takes to keep Brain Box alive. Then I'm up for it”

Breanna's face tightens, her brow arching—equal parts impressed and challenged.

She came in thinking he was bleeding—vulnerable. But there’s nothing fragile about the man on the bed.

She steps back slowly, saying nothing in response. Because there’s nothing left to say that won’t bounce off that wall of granite resolve.

Crouching right by the posterior of his bed, she picked her blazer, seeing herself out.

And Grinch? He closes his eyes again—calm, loyal, and untouched.

The door hisses shut behind her, and she storms down the corridor with unfinished war in her spine.

As she turns, just at the corner of the corridor, she nearly collides with ANTONIO, just arriving.

Dressed in a tailored black coat, collar raised, hands in pockets—shoes silent on the polished floor.

His presence is wolf-like: elegant, dangerous, composed.

Their eyes locked mid-step. A full second passes.

Neither moves.

He just stood with an effortless calmness, but eyed her like a smudge on a white wall—sharp like a blade mid-draw.

“Funny timing.” Breanna broke the silence.

“Isn’t it—Hope you are done?” He asked in a flat tone.

He doesn’t need to ask what she was doing in the Private ward. He knows. They both do.

“Not really,” Breanna replied with a quiet smirk.

“Oh—that's bad” his face lit up with smile, thin. Deadly. “I will take it from here”.

Breanna steps slightly to the side, enough for him to pass—but not without a lingering pause.

A silent warning rests on her brow, and her voice drops—low and cutting. “I'm curious Brain box, was that a warning shot or a message?”

“Depends on who's listening.” He replied flatly.

Striding toward her, with one finger raised in a mock farewell.

“Mrs Stewart? You are standing on my way”

Breanna flashed another stare at him. Then she brushes past him, shoulder grazing his coat—not out of aggression, but to remind him, she’s not afraid of ghosts in silk suits, nor the new him.

He watches her go for a moment, then finally pushes open the door to Grinch’s room.

Stepping inside, he closes the door gently.

Grinch inhaled sharply, bracing his resolve for the confrontation he knew that was going to happen.

“What does she want?” Blade asked in a low and casual tone.

Grinch doesn’t speak for a beat. Then, without turning—

“Same thing everyone wants when they smell a weak line. A confession.”

“And?” Blade smirked, moving closer, his footsteps deliberate.

He stops at the foot of the bed, gaze resting on his Consigliere. “And what did you tell her?”

Grinch lifted his head now. Slowly. Eyes razor-sharp despite the weakness in his body.

“She asked a lot of things—so I told her what she needed to hear.”

Antonio says nothing. No reaction. His breathing composed—eyes still fixed on Grinch, calculating his countenance.

The long, heavy silence stretches. Then he slowly moves closer, his voice dipping—like someone checking if the spine they cracked still holds.

“So that’s what this is?” He smiled faintly. “What did she offer you in return—protection?”

Grinch studies Antonio's calm exterior, jaw ticking once.

The tension between them is thick—but beneath it, was that dangerous bond only men like them understand, loyalty that bleeds, but doesn’t break.

“¿Y por qué estás tan curious de escucharlo? {And why are you so curious to hear it?}” Grinch's voice was rough with pain, but heavy with intent.

“Trade your blood for words? You're gonna start asking questions too?” Antonio queried.

He nods once—silent, respectful. “Go ahead—bring your questions”

With precision, he steps toward the nightstand by the bed, his shadow swallowing the light momentarily.

“No—” Grinch countered. “Just one—I have only one question”.