He listens, his tone growing serious. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."
Relief floods me, but it’s short-lived. Asher stirs, his lips moving in barely audible mumbles. My grip tightens around the phone.
"Hurry," I whisper, but then his mumbling worsens. The urgency spikes in my chest. "Please, get here now."
At first, it’s sharp, clipped commands. “Secure the perimeter.” There is a pause. “No loose ends.” His instincts, even in weakness, remain honed for battle. But then, something shifts. His voice breaks, something raw bleeding into his words. “Sera—don’t go. Please.”
I freeze. The name hangs in the air, thick with desperation. His face twists, agony etched into every line, and every furrow of his brow. I’ve never heard him sound like this—so broken. So lost.
The words spill out in fevered fragments, pieces of a past that still haunts him. “I told her not to go to him… I warned her… but she wouldn’t listen.” His eyes twitch behind his lids. “I ran, I ran as fast as I could.” His fists grip the sheet beneath him and I stop myself from grabbing his hand. “Too late. Always too late. He was standing there… watching… like it meant nothing.” A silent tear trails down his cheek. “She was everything good in this world. And he took her from me.”
My throat tightens. I don’t know who Serafina is, but the grief in his voice makes my chest ache. I should pull back, give him space. But I can’t. Not when he looks like this—trapped in a nightmare he can’t escape.
Suddenly, his fingers wrap around my wrist—tight, almost bruising. His eyes crack open, fevered and unfocused. “Don’t leave me,” he rasps, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Not you too.”
I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I’m not leaving.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
The doctor arrives, his expression grim as he checks Asher over. “The infection is setting in,” he confirms. “We’re going to start IV antibiotics now, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
I nod, barely hearing him. My focus remains on Asher—the way his body shivers despite the heat radiating from him, and the way his breath catches in his throat. He’s fighting, even in his sleep. Fighting something far bigger than just an infection.
It's been hours and the fever hasn’t broken.
Asher's body thrashes against the sheets, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. His breathing is erratic, his skin flushed and burning beneath my touch. He’s lost in the past, trapped in a loop of pain he can’t escape.
My hands tighten into fists at my sides. He’s always so controlled, and so untouchable—seeing him like this, unraveling, shakes something loose in me.
He won’t let anyone close, won’t let anyone see the cracks beneath the armor. But now? Now there’s no mask, and no shield, just the raw edges of a man who’s carried too much for too long.
I do the only thing I can think of—I talk to him.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” My voice is quiet, but my hands stay steady as I run the damp cloth down his neck. “You push everyone away, but when you’re like this… when you’re too out of it to hide…” I exhale sharply. “Maybe you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”
The words settle between us, soft but undeniable. Asher's thrashing slows, his breath hitching as his fevered eyes blink open. For the first time in hours, they seem just a little clearer, as if he’s momentarily surfacing from the haze. His gaze locks onto mine, searching, confused.
Then, before I can stop myself, the question slips free.
“Who was she?”
His breath hitches. Even in fevered delirium, the name holds power over him.
"Serafina Redmont.”
“She was my older sister. My protector. In a house ruled by my father’s brutality, she was my shield, my sanctuary. She took the hits for me, whispered to me in the dark that I wasn’t alone. That I would always have her." Asher shifts beneath the damp sheets, his brow furrowing. A soft whimper escapes his lips, his body tensing before slackening again.
I tighten my grip on the cloth in my hands, my heart pounding.
"Until she fell in love with Rinaldi." His breath turns ragged, chest rising in stilted, shallow movements. He shudders violently, a broken sound slipping from his throat. "Until my father made sure she paid the price. ‘I think someone’s following me.' Hervoice trembled that night when she called me." Asher’s fingers twitch, his lips parting. His expression twists, caught in the grip of something deeper than fever. I squeeze his hand gently, unsure if he can even feel it. "And I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before. But I was too late." A sharp breath rips through him, his head shifting restlessly against the pillow.
I press the cold cloth to his forehead again, whispering his name, but he doesn’t respond.
"I saw her under the streetlamp. Heard the gunfire. I grabbed her in my arms. The blood. So much blood." His body stiffens, a strangled noise slipping past his lips.
My own breath catches as I watch the pain flicker across his fevered face.
His hand clenches briefly around mine, then weakens, fingers slackening in exhaustion. "My father stood over us both, his voice a quiet 'This is what happens when you put love above the Order.'"
A tear slips free before I can stop it. I wipe it away quickly, swallowing against the knot in my throat.
