"And secondly, I can promise you that Elion is safe. You are safe. David, Kevin, Sarah—everyone is safe."
I remembered Damien's promises to always protect me. I lifted my chin.
"Andso am I."
Silence thickened around us. She didn't look away, didn't blink, didn't flinch. Just like I knew she wouldn't.
I tried to match her, the intensity she brought to the room, and prayed I stacked up.
"Fine," she breathed. "But I won't wait long."
The pressure in my chest eased—barely.
"You won't have to."
She held my gaze a moment longer—weighing, deciding—then gathered her things and left without another word.
The door clicked shut. I sat alone in the conference room that used to be mine, the weight of secrets pressing in.
Chapter ten
Damien
My mother looked like a ghost.
The coffee in her hand had gone cold hours ago—I could tell by the film forming on the surface—but she hadn't noticed. Hadn't moved. Her eyes were fixed on Sebastian's face like she could will him awake through sheer stubbornness alone.
She'd lost weight. Hollowed cheeks. The cardigan hanging loose. The cough had started three days ago—but today it was worse. Wet. Persistent. She'd waved it off every time I'd brought it up.
But now the circles under her eyes looked less like exhaustion and more like bruises.
"Mrs. Holt," a young nurse said from the doorway. "Is there anything I can get you?"
My mother's head turned.
"No, thank you. I'm—"
A coughing fit seized her, sharp and ugly, phlegm catching at the back of her throat loud enough for both of us to hear.
I glanced at Emma from where I stood at the foot of the bed. Concern crossed her tired face.
She'd been amazing. Every possible moment she'd spent devoted to Sebastian, Rosie, me, and Candace.
I was failing them both. The woman who raised me. The woman I loved.
I should have stepped up days ago. Taken the title she'd handed me and done something with it.
A knot cinched beneath my ribs—fear again, sharp and unwelcome—while my mother's coughs quieted, her inhales growing steadier.
"Mrs. Holt," the nurse tried again. "Are you okay?"
She waved her off. "I'm fine, dear. Just a little tired."
The nurse's mouth thinned. "I'm so sorry," she said carefully, regret on her face, "but we can't allow sick visitors into the ICU."
The only sound was the quiet beep of the machines keeping Sebastian alive.
Finally, my mother broke the silence. Low. Dangerous. "I'm not leaving."
