Chapter 13:

Majori's POV:

 That night, as usual, after the nurse pushed the cart into the room, the rubber wheels creaked softly against the vinyl floor and the air filled again with the scent of alcohol and iodine. They followed their routine precisely: checked my temperature and blood pressure, examined the IV line, changed the dressings on my wounds, inspected the stitches where my ribs had cracked, and then pressed two pills, a white one and a blue one into my hand along with a cup of lukewarm water.

I tilted my head back, swallowed, and felt the water trickle down my dry throat. One of the nurses said, "Good girl," as if I were a child brave enough to drink bitter syrup. I gave her a polite smile. When the cart rolled out, the curtain was drawn and their footsteps faded down the corridor, I could once again hear the steady tick-tick of the monitor, patient and rhythmic like a clock that never lost its temper. Nights like this had repeated so often that I had memorized the order of every sound, the exact brightness of the wall light, even the faint plastic taste that lingered on my tongue when I accidentally brushed it against the IV needle.

Only one thing was different tonight, Doctor Pembroke came in person. He knocked twice and entered without waiting for an answer, his white coat crisp, silver-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down his nose. I couldn't hide my surprise and tried to push myself up but he lifted a hand, his voice low and calm:

 "No need, Majori. Stay as you are."

He checked the chart at my bedside, asked the same familiar questions: pain level, nausea, sleep then pressed the cold stethoscope against my chest. My heartbeat, something I had grown used to hearing became a number and a verdict in his ears.

 "Much better. Lungs are clear."

 He removed the stethoscope, his eyes threaded with the fatigue of a night-shift doctor, yet still sharp and steady.

 "Your recovery is progressing faster than I expected. But don't rush it. Try to sleep through the night. And if you don't need the call bell, even better. Rest is the strongest medicine."

"Thank you, Doctor," I said. I wanted to ask if he had ever seen someone heal faster out of fear than out of treatment but I swallowed the question. Fear has a way of mixing into the blood driving the body to race against time itself.

Pembroke nodded, scribbled a few last notes, and closed the file.

 "If the pain returns, take half a codeine pill, no more. I've informed the night nurse. And Majori…"

 He paused at the doorknob as if debating whether to add something. Finally, he said only:

 "My office is at the end of the hallway. If anything unusual happens, call me."

The door closed with a soft click polite, almost invisible.

The room was mine again. The amber wall light cast a small halo across my pillow. I lay on my side, eyes tracing the faint cracks in the ceiling paint like the dried-up rivers on a map. Night in a hospital was a kind of darkness that was never truly dark; it hovered like an unfinished promise that left you both soothed and uneasy. I pulled the blanket up to my waist, feeling the gauze brush against my skin. Outside, the wind stirred through the maple leaves, their shadows swaying silently across the curtain.

I knew he would come. Tonight was the last night of the deadline Brian had set for me a deadline spoken in that calm, casual tone, as if we'd been discussing wine over dinner. Three days. Three days to return to Brian, to the nightmare that had followed me for five years. But I had spent every hour of those three days simply breathing, giving my bones and skin a purpose so my mind wouldn't have to think. But the mind isn't a limb or an organ, it doesn't rest just because you pretend to sleep.

And then, as expected, the darkness shifted. Someone was in the room. There was no sound of a door only a faint movement behind the curtain, a shape denser than the rest of the night. I didn't flinch. I only pulled the blanket higher and pushed myself upright, back against the headboard, eyes on the curtain.

"I was wondering when you'd finally show up," I said, my voice calm almost bored.

The shadow gave a soft laugh. The curtain swayed. A man stepped outlean frame, close-cropped hair, the scent of disinfectant mixed with a hint of cold snow clinging to his coat. He didn't turn on the light or rather, he didn't need to. His eyes were accustomed to darkness and I was accustomed to his presence in places where light never reached. He was a messenger, an extended hand, a shadow that obeyed orders. "Spy" was the simple word people used for him.

He smirked and stepped closer. Under the dim glow, his face seemed carved free of unnecessary emotions.

 "You know the deadline," he said. "You leave tonight. There's a car waiting at the north gate."

Brian truly believed I was safe under Vincent's watch so he didn't bother arranging a plan or even a few men to assist me. He claimed to love me, yet left me alone, afraid of complications. The truth was he only loved himself.

But I didn't care about Brian's twisted version of love anymore. There was something more important now.

"I'll go," I said, "if you answer one question."

He tilted his head slightly. "You're not in a position to make demands."

"Really?" I knew the duplicity of Brian's subordinates all too well so I had come prepared. From beneath the blanket, I drew a dagger and pressed the blade against my own throat. The edge hovered barely a millimeter from my skin too close to measure, close enough to draw blood.

The spy flinched just slightly his body tense in the dark.

"You know Brian values this body of mine," I said. "If I hurt myself and say you did it, what do you think will happen? The one with no right to make demands here is you, not me. You're just a pawn, while I'm his future Luna. Do you dare defy me?"

In the dim light, I saw his hands clench, knuckles cracking faintly between our breaths. Then he said,

 "Ask."

"Where are my parents?"

A barely perceptible pause a twitch so small an untrained eye would miss it. He stepped past the curtain into the light.

 "Safe," he said, his voice flat, mechanical. "They've been transferred to Moonvale Tower."

Moonvale Tower. My heart sank, then tightened. A luxury resort near the northern border hailed as a slice of heaven, doubling as a high-end retirement facility with world-class care. But only fools would believe that.

He hadn't said Luna Heights. Of course not. He probably knew that I already discovered Luna Heights had been demolished and that land now lay within Vincent's territory. A clever man avoids the words that might expose his lie.

"What floor?" I asked. "Who's watching them? You said transferred from where?"

"You ask too many questions," he said with a smile that never reached his eyes. "None of that matters for tonight's plan."

"The doctor's name?" I pressed, steady. "Do they get sunlight? My mother gets headaches easily, and my father's spine is degenerating are they being taken care of?"

"Enough," he snapped, cold and sharp. "You're coming with me. That's all you need to know."