Cassian sighed dramatically. "Fine. Be difficult. But bring Emma—she'd probably enjoy getting out of the penthouse for once."
“My sister goes to plenty of places.”
“Yeah? When’s the last time you took her somewhere that wasn’t a medical appointment or cardiac rehab?” He raised his eyebrows challengingly. “Think about it, Riv.”
I couldn’t remember. Emma was still recovering from a complex congenital heart surgery. She couldn’t handle any kind of overstimulation. The excitement would only send her heart rate climbing too fast. Exhaustion would hit her harder, and infection was still a risk.
She needed stability and routine. Not crowded events with strangers and noise.
“She’s fine where she is,” I said.
“Didn’t say she wasn’t.” His eyes lost some of their humor. "How are you really doing? And don't say fine. I can tell."
"I'm fine," I repeated anyway, because what else was there to say?
He snorted. “You’re working yourself into the ground. Haven’t taken a day off in six months. And you’re still ignoring August’s calls about the hospitals. That sounds fine to you?”
My jaw clenched. “The hospitals can wait.”
“It’s been nine months since your father died, Riv.”
I looked away, unwilling to respond.
“I’m not judging," Cassian said, raising his hands placatingly. "Just pointing out the obvious. You can’t keep running yourself like this. At some point, you have to eat actual food, sleep more than three hours, maybe even laugh at something besides sarcasm.”
Despite myself, a smirk tugged at my lips.
“Anyway,” he said as he stood, “I came for food, company, and the sheer joy of watching you glare at me while I make reasonable points about your life.”
“Sure.”
He grinned and slid a wrapped sandwich across the desk toward me. "Now eat, drink your coffee, and try to relax. Or don't. But when you collapse from exhaustion, don't say I didn't warn you."
I let the distraction loosen some of the tension I'd been carrying. He was annoying and persistent, but somehow he reminded me that the world didn't have to feel so heavy all the time.
He left after fifteen more minutes of commentary I mostly ignored. The rest of the afternoon dissolved into patient rounds and chart reviews, one task bleeding into the next until I lost all sense of time.
By the time I made it home, darkness had settled over the city. Exhaustion settled in my bones. The penthouse smelled like smoke, setting off every alarm bell in my exhausted brain.
“Don’t come in here!” Emma's voice rang out from the kitchen, half-panicked.
I ignored her and followed the smell. She stood at the stove, waving a dish towel at smoke pouring from a pan. She wore an oversized sweater with her hair twisted into a messy knot, and she was grinning at me like she hadn't just nearly set the place on fire.
“I was trying to make stir-fry.”
“I can see that.” I crossed to the stove and turned off the burner.
She dumped the smoking pan in the sink. “Pizza?”
“Pizza.”
While we waited for the food delivery, Emma curled up beside me on the couch, launching into an animated story about her day. The caregiver brought books from the library and spent the afternoon on the balcony reading. She wanted to adopt a cat but knew I'd refuse.
She was right. At least for now.
Eighteen months ago, she’d undergone a congenital heart surgery that nearly took her from me. Now she laughed, talked, and dreamed about the future. Color had returned to her cheeks and she looked healthier than I could ever remember since she was little.
And I couldn’t be more grateful for that.
