I manage to wriggle free and sit up, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.
Arlo’s name flashes across the screen.
My brows knit together, unease settles in my chest. “What the hell…”
Behind me, Markev is upright now, fully awake, watching my expression change.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shake my head, distracted. “Arlo’s calling me.”
His jaw tightens. “Why the fuck would he call you?”
I ignore his possessiveness and answer before he can reach for the phone, the uneasy feeling refusing to let go.
“Hello?”
There’s no greeting.
“It’s Ophelia,” he says, and then he gives me a hospital name in London.
Why the fuck would he say a hospital name in the same sentence as my sister?
My heart slams so hard it leaves me lightheaded. My vision blurs.
Is she hurt?
Did her blood sugar drop?
Did she fall?
If it were something like that, she would be here. We have doctors. We have a hospital on the island. They wouldn’t take her to London unless…
Hands frame my face.
“Tell me,” Markev demands. “What happened?”
“My sister,” I manage. “I think… I think she’s in the hospital.”
The words don’t feel real.
My body goes numb.
I barely register him moving. I don’t notice him getting off the bed, crossing the room, opening drawers. The world narrows to a single, terrifying thought.
She needs to be okay.
He kneels in front of me with clothes in his hands, lifts my leg carefully, and pulls leggings over it.
I want to say I can do it myself.
In truth, I can’t.
My chest feels caved in.
He pulls a sweatshirt over my head, guiding my arms through. He helps me into my socks and shoes next.
“Let’s go,” he says.
