A voice.
“Mr. Vincenzo!”
The sound cut through the garage, urgent and breathless.
Both of us turned.
A young man—early twenties, suit slightly rumpled, chest rising and falling rapidly—burst around the corner, skidding to a halt as he tried to catch his breath.
He looked panicked.
“Mr. Vincenzo,” he said again, voice strained.
Vincenzo’s entire demeanor shifted instantly.
“What is it?” he demanded sharply.
The young man swallowed hard.
“Violet—she’s just been rushed here. She fainted completely.”
Silence.
For a fraction of a second—
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
Vincenzo moved.
Fast.
All his earlier indifference replaced by something sharper.
More urgent. More alive.
“Lead the way to her ward,” he ordered immediately.
The young man nodded and turned, hurrying off down the corridor.
And then—
Vincenzo turned back to me.
Without a word—
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.
Then—
Pressed them into my palm.
“Find your way home, Elena.”
No second glance. No concern.
Just—
