Ignatius must’ve seen it too, because his voice went softer. “That’s enough legal talk for tonight,” he said, standing with a little groan. “My lawyers will send over summaries tomorrow. You’ll hate them. They’re very thorough.”
Cole blinked, like he wasn’t entirely tracking words anymore. “Okay,” he murmured.
Ignatius’s gaze flicked to me. “Guest suite is made up from before. Take him to bed before he falls over. And make sure he drinks water.”
“Yes, Dad,”I said automatically.
Ignatius snorted. He squeezed Cole’s shoulder once, careful and brief. “You’re safe here.”
Cole’s throat worked. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Ignatius just grunted and left the room, heavy footsteps fading down the hall. A door shut somewhere, the sound solid and distant.
The house went quiet.
Not empty—Ignatius’s presence hummed in the walls like low thunder—but quiet enough that I could hear the tiny, uneven hitch in Cole’s breathing. Like every inhale had to fight its way past something lodged in his chest.
I slid off the arm of the couch and crouched in front of him. “Hey,” I said gently. “You fading?”
His eyes, that icy clear gray, dragged up to meet mine. There was a dazed confusion there, like he was still half in that clinic room, half in this one.
“I’m okay,” he said automatically.
“Right.” I pushed myself up and held out a hand. “Come on, Armstrong. Bed.”
He stared at my hand like it was some kind of test. Then, slowly, he uncurled his fingers from the blanket and put his palm in mine.
He was still running hot. Not the searing, dangerous temperature from the clinic, but a steady furnace-heat that sank into my skin and radiated up my arm. The dragon under his skin stirred at the contact—I could feel it, like standing too close to a bonfire and sensing the flames shift.
But the heat wasn’t jagged now. It was…seeking.
“I can walk,” he muttered as I tugged him to his feet.
“I know you can,” I said. I stayed close anyway, ready if his knees decided to betray him. “Humor me.”
We made it down the hallway in slow, uneven steps. Ignatius’s house was all warm stone and dark wood, lined with framed art that looked like they belonged in museums. Dragons in flight. One of what looked to be a beautiful woman, with a much younger Ignatius's arm around her. Another of both him and Doryu.
“You okay?”I asked quietly.
He nodded, but he turned his face away, as if he couldn’t quite look at the symbols of family right now without flinching.
The guest suite door was already open. Inside, the room was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp. Big bed. Soft-looking. A chair in the corner. Another door leading to what I assumed was a bathroom. The air in here was cooler than the living room, thank God.
I led him in, then stopped and turned to face him.
“Right,” I said. “Here’s the plan. Go to the bathroom. You get into bed while I get you water. You drink the water. Then you sleep for, like, three years.”
He gave me a look that was half fond, half wrecked. “That’s not medically—”
“Don’t care,” I said. “Doctor Phoenix’s orders.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Doctor Phoenix.”
“Very prestigious diploma,” I said. “Printed it myself and everything.” That got the barest snort out of him.
He went to the bathroom while I retraced my steps for some bottles of water.
When I came back, he was where I’d left him but listing slightly more sideways, like gravity was trying to tip him over.
