Vidar waited.He always waited.Bjorn’s eyes narrowed.Recognition landed. “Vee.” The word came out in a confused rasp.”Alaric?” he asked a moment later.
Vidar’s expression didn’t change.
“He’s fine,” Vidar answered. Not a lie. Alaric was fine in the same way a blade was fine. “Your other sons are fine, too.”
Bjorn’s eyes tightened.”And you,” he whispered, as if the question had arrived late. “Why are you here?”
Vidar let the silence stretch.It wasn’t theatrical. It was instructional.”Because you’re waking up,” hesaid.
Bjorn stared.
Vidar leaned back into the chair, relaxed. He wanted Bjorn to experience the imbalance. Aman flat on his back. Aman sitting comfortably beside him. Hetilted his head.”You’re not fully awake,” he said, kind and gentle. “So I’m going to say this clearly, and then I’m going to let you sit with it. You deserve that much.”
Bjorn’s gaze locked ontohim.
Vidar held it.”I’m your son.”The words landed without heat.They didn’t needit.
Bjorn didn’t react at first.His brow furrowed. His eyes searched Vidar’s face as if trying to find the shape of the lie.”That’s…” he murmured. “No.”
Vidar’s smile remained in place.”Yes,” hesaid.
Bjorn’s breathing increased. The monitor responded with a slightly faster rhythm.
“No,” Bjorn repeated, hoarse and strained. “I have sons. You’re not one.”
“You do have sons,” Vidar agreed. “And they’re yours. That’s the tragedy, isn’t it? You made a whole line of heirs and stillmanaged to leave the one who should’ve mattered outside the door.”
Bjorn’s eyes flared, then narrowed.”Who are you?” he demanded.
Vidar leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, posture conversational.”You know my name. It’s Vidar,” he said. “Vidar Johnson. Maybe you can place it more easily if I tell you my mother was Theodora Johnson. You used to call her Adora.”
Bjorn’s lips parted.”You,” Bjorn rasped, and this time there was something else behind it. Not recognition.Alarm.
Vidar watched that alarm bloom as if he were watching the weather change. “Excellent,” he murmured. “You remember the decision. You remember the erasure. Before I was even born.”
Bjorn’s eyes glassed for a moment. Medication. Fatigue. Confusion fighting with fear.”I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but his voice faltered on the lastword.
Vidar nodded slowly.”You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “There’s no audience.”
Bjorn’s gaze flickedtoward thedoor.
Vidar followed it with his eyes.”The nurse is eating dinner. Ibrought it for her. I’m considerate like that.”
Bjorn’s face tightened.”What do you want?”
There it was.The core question.
Vidar studied him for a beat as if deciding how honest to be.”Ownership,” he said.Bjorn blinked.”I want what you built,” he continued, tone still quiet. “I want the Severin family. The influence. The money. The infrastructure. The authority.”
Bjorn’s eyes hardened.”You’re not my son. You’re not a Severin. You can’t have it.”
Vidar’s expression stayed pleasant.”I can and I will,” he corrected.
The old man’s breathing quickened. The monitor answered again.”My sons,” Bjorn began, voice rising with effort. “Leif... Alaric… Magnus…”
Vidar didn’t interrupt.
“Alaric will kill you,” Bjorn rasped.
