…because we’re alive. We’re together. And we have the key to everything our enemies died trying to possess.
We really won.
THIRTY
Nevaeh
The next twoweeks are some of the hardest we’ve ever faced—and that’s saying something considering we’ve survived assassination attempts, betrayals, and literal shootouts.
Caelian’s recovery is agonizingly slow. The bullet wound to his chest, so close to his already damaged heart, has left him weaker than I’ve ever seen him.
Some days he can barely sit up without his face going pale; sweat beading his brow as he fights against the pain.
Other days are better, when he can walk to the bathroom on his own or sit in the chair by the window and pretend he’s not dying inside.
Dr. Tulio handles his medical care. Despite everything—the years of poisoning and experimentation—he remains dedicated to Caelian’s recovery with an almost obsessive determination.
Possibly out of some mixture of guilt and remorse. Honestly, I’m too exhausted to care as long as he keeps Caelian alive.
And slowly, gradually, Caelian improves. His complexion goes from pallid to something resembling healthy. His breathing becomes less labored. The monitors beep in steadier rhythms.
I barely leave his side through all of it. I sleep in the armchair beside his bed or curled up next to him when Tulio isn’t checking his vitals.
I read to him from books Ms. Poitier brings up. I hold his hand and remind him he’s strong enough to survive this, just like he survived everything else.
But eventually, Caelian notices what I’ve been trying to hide—the bloodshot look of my eyes and how I keep nodding off because I can’t remember the last time I slept more than three hours straight.
“Nevaeh,” he says one afternoon, his tone stern. “You need to take care of yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted.” His gray eyes pin me in place. “You’re starting to worry me. Forget about my condition and focus on yourself.”
“I just need to make sure you’re okay?—”
“I am okay. Because of you. Because of Tulio. But now you need to rest. Please, mia bella ballerina. For me.” He grabs my hand, swallowing it up in his much larger one, and gives me a reassuring squeeze.
So I finally listen. Not because I want to, but because the concern in his eyes makes my stomach pit with guilt. Plus, my bodyhasbeen begging for relief.
Everything aches—my muscles, my joints, even my breasts feel more tender and sore than they’ve ever been. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a couple pounds, which is a big deal as petite as I am, and I haven’t been able to keep down any food.
But Caelian isn’t the only one concerned. Dr. Tulio finds me in the hallway outside Caelian’s room, probably looking like death warmed over.
“Nevaeh,” he says gently. “When’s the last time you had a proper meal? Or a full night’s sleep?”
“I don’t know. A while.”
“Come with me. Mr. C said he thought it was a good idea if I gave you a quick checkup. Make sure you’re not running yourself into the ground.”
I follow him to the medical office Caelian had created inside his home so he could provide at-home care. He takes my blood pressure, checks my pulse, shines a light in my eyes. He even takes some blood to have it tested, handing it off to his medical assistant. Then he starts asking the usual routine questions.
“How have you been eating?”
“I haven’t had much of an appetite. But I’ve been doing my best to eat. Usually when Ms. Poitier corners me.”
“And sleep?”
“Not great. But that’s normal, right? After everything?”
