Chapter 72

"If you throw off those wool blankets one more time, Elias, I am going to duct-tape your wrists directly to the bedposts," Raphael said, his voice flat with exhaustion as he marched back into the shadowy bedroom, a fresh basin of steaming water and a stack of clean cotton towels clutched tightly against his chest.

Elias thrashed against the pillows, his skin burning beneath Raphael's palm, a harsh, ragged breath tearing through his throat as his clouded eyes flew open with a wild, unfocused intensity. "The perimeter... the northern gate isn't secured, Julian. Tell Maeve to pull the trucks back before the whole syndicate goes up in smoke."

Raphael set the basin down on the mahogany nightstand with a sharp clatter, his jaw clenching as he wrung out a cloth with icy water and pressed it firmly against Elias’s burning forehead. "You aren't at the docks, and your brother isn't standing in the doorway, Elias. You are in our bedroom on the coast, and your fever is hitting one-hundred-and-four degrees. Look at me. Right now."

Elias grabbed Raphael’s wrist with a sudden, crushing grip that belied his physical weakness, his fingers digging into bone with frantic, delusional urgency. "No, you don't understand—the Corbett ledgers, they're in the floorboards under the operating table at St. Jude's. If the board finds out we bypassed the surgical logs, we’re all dead. Every single one of us."

"Corbett has been out of power for years, and St. Jude's is a hundred miles behind us," Raphael countered sharply, trying to pry the iron grip loose without hurting him, though a cold knot of sympathy twisted tight in his own chest. "You survived the syndicate, Elias. You survived the water treatment plant. Now let your body survive this infection, or I swear I will let Maeve take over your nursing care."

"Maeve... she thinks we can just walk away," Elias muttered, his voice dropping into a delirious, broken rasp as his eyelids fluttered shut, his head rolling sideways against the damp pillow. "The blood... it won't wash off my hands, Raphael. No matter how many times you scrub... it just keeps coming back."

Raphael froze, the wet towel hovering just above Elias's collarbone as the raw, unmasked agony in those words sliced straight through his professional defenses. He gently smoothed back the damp, dark hair sticking to Elias's forehead, his voice softening despite the high-stakes panic gripping the room. "I know. I know the feeling. But your hands are clean now, Elias. You built this place. You built us. Let the fever burn it out, but don't you dare give up here."

Elias didn't answer; another violent shiver wracked his broad frame, his teeth chattering against each other as the chills aggressively chased the fever break. Raphael cursed under his breath, stripping away the sweat-soaked linen sheets and replacing them with dry, heavy wool, working with rapid, practiced efficiency that left no room for hesitation. He climbed right onto the edge of the mattress, wrapping his own body heat around the shivering giant, pressing his chest against Elias's back to force the shivering to stop.

"This is completely unprofessional medical protocol," Raphael whispered fiercely into the dim, drafty room, pulling the heavy blankets up to their chins.

Elias let out a low, trembling sigh against Raphael's shoulder, his grip finally slackening as he instinctively leaned back into the warmth. "Since when... have you ever... followed protocol?"

"Since the night I decided not to let you bleed out on a dirty stainless-steel table," Raphael muttered, resting his chin against Elias's damp hair as the wind howled fiercely against the coastal windowpanes. "Now close your eyes and sleep, Elias. I'm right here."

The clock on the wall ticked loudly through the agonizingly long hours of the night, every rattling cough sounding like a fresh threat to the fragile life they had carved out of the ashes. Raphael didn't move an inch, his muscles cramping and his eyes burning with fatigue, but he maintained his vigil with absolute, unyielding stubbornness. As the pale, gray light of dawn slowly began to bleed through the salt-crusted window glass, the violent shaking finally subsided into a deep, steady rhythm, and the terrifying heat beneath Elias's skin began to break.

Raphael carefully extricated himself from the tangled blankets, pressing the back of his hand against Elias's cheek, feeling the blessed coolness of normal skin return at last. He let out a long, shuddering breath of pure relief, massaging his stiff neck as he stood up to check the IV drip he had improvised the night before. Just as he reached for the flow regulator, a sharp, urgent rapping echoed loudly through the quiet house from the front entrance downstairs.

Raphael froze, his hand hovering over the plastic tubing as he listened closely, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up in the morning silence. A second later, heavy, hurried footsteps crunched across the gravel pathway outside, followed by the distinct, metallic rattle of the clinic's front latch being violently tested.

Elias stirred instantly on the bed behind him, his dark eyes snapping open, completely clear, sharp, and instantly alert despite the pale exhaustion lingering in his features. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, his voice dropping into that familiar, lethal register of command. "Get my sidearm from the top drawer of the desk, Raphael. Nobody comes through that front door this early unless the war has followed us home."