Kyle laughs, sharp and bitter. “You care about him so much that you’re willing to throw everything else away?”
I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms. “Yes, I fucking am!”
A few people enjoying dinner turn to look at us. Kyle smiles politely.
Kyle leans closer, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Look, you’re overreacting. Trust me, it’s probably not even that bad. And anyway…you can’t just walk out on everything you’ve got here. You’re not some hero in a movie.”
I shake my head, taking a step back. “I don’t care. I can’t—won’t—stay here while he’s lying in some hospital bed, maybe needing me.”
Kyle looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “He’s your rival, Alaric. Why would you care?”
I grit my teeth, my chest tightening with frustration. I’m about to argue when a shadow falls over us, long and imposing. I glance up, heart sinking, and see my father standing there, hands clasped behind his back, perfect posture, perfect expression—an expression that masks calculation and menace in equal measure.
“What seems to be the problem here?” His voice is calm, deliberate, but there’s an edge underneath it that makes my stomach twist. Kyle straightens, suddenly polite, like he’s just a pawn in some larger game.
“I need to leave,” I say quickly, stepping toward him. “Magnus—he’s been hit. I have to see him.”
My father’s gaze sharpens, and I feel the weight of it like a physical blow. “Alaric,” he says slowly, deliberately, “if you leave now, you will be cut off. Completely. No trust fund, no access to anything. You leave tonight, and you will not receive another penny from me.”
The words hit harder than any argument with Kyle could. My chest tightens. The world narrows around that single threat, that single ultimatum. My father is cold, precise, and utterly merciless. I can see the calculation in his eyes—he knows exactly how to manipulate me, exactly which strings to pull.
I swallow hard, heartbeat erratic. I glance at Kyle, who now looks smug, satisfied with the tension he’s helped create. He’s practically counting on me to fold.
I say nothing because I know arguing won’t help. Instead, I make the decision in a single, swift heartbeat.
“Fine,” I mutter, voice low, trembling slightly with suppressed fury and fear. “Fine.”
I pivot sharply and stride toward the door, ignoring Kyle’s protests, ignoring my father’s stare. The voices around me blur, the polite clinking of glasses, the laughter, the camera flashes—all meaningless. Nothing matters but Magnus.
Molly’s eyes follow me, wide and anxious. She doesn’t say anything, just offers a tiny nod, a small gesture of support. I catch it, and it’s enough to steady my hands, enough to remind me that I have someone in my corner. Someone who understands.
The hallway stretches ahead, bright and sterile, but I barely notice it. My phone is clutched in my hand, useless, silent—I have no need for distractions. The world has shrunk to a single point: the hospital. Magnus. Maybe hurting. Maybe scared. Maybe needing me.
Kyle’s voice cuts after me, but I don’t answer. He’s shouting, cursing, but it’s white noise now. I move faster, ignoring the luxury cars waiting outside, ignoring the valet. My mind is too full of Magnus.
I can hear the city around me, honking cars, muffled voices, the hum of streetlights, but I’m not present for any of it. I’m running, metaphorically and almost literally, toward Magnus, toward the person who has upended everything in my life in ways I can’t articulate, who has made me realize how hollow my existence can be without him.
Every second of hesitation, every polite smile I’ve forced, every compromise I’ve made—it all evaporates. There’s only urgency now. Only the pounding of my own pulse and the distant memory of his laugh, his touch, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. I clutch the phone tighter, wishing I could hear his voice, wishing I could know he’s alive, wishing I could undo every moment that led to him lying in some hospital room with someone else making decisions for him.
I break into a run, ignoring the stares of passersby, the drizzle soaking me through. The city lights blur around me, the hum of traffic a distant echo. Nothing exists but him. Magnus. Alive, and waiting.
And I don’t stop.
? ? ?
The fluorescent lights in the emergency department make everything look too white, too clean, like a painting of life where the shadows have been erased. My shoes slap hard on the linoleum as I barrel through the sliding doors.
“Excuse me!” I shove past a woman holding a sleeping toddler, past a man with an arm in a sling.
The automatic doors whoosh shut behind me. I don’t stop until I’m at the nurses’ station, breath tearing out of me in raw, jagged sobs.
A nurse looks up, calm and efficient. “Sir, can I help?—?”
“Where is he?” I don’t even know who I’m yelling at. The words tear out of me like a palpable thing. “Where is Magnus Flint? Tell me where he is. I need—” I break off because my voice has become paper-thin and wet.
The nurse’s expression shifts, trained concern folding into real worry. “What’s your name, sir?” She’s asking for paperwork, protocol, the things that make hospitals run, but I can’t think about forms. I push my phone into her hand like it’s a warrant. My fingers are slick with sweat.
“Alaric Hale,” I say, and for one suspended second the world holds its breath.
