The words hang in the air. I feel Timofey go still for half a second. Then relief moves through him so sharply I feel it in the way his arms tremble slightly around me.
He exhales slowly, pressing his forehead briefly closer to mine, as if grounding himself in the fact that I’m still here. Still breathing.
“Thank you,” he says to the doctor. His voice is steady again, but lower now. Rough at the edges.
The doctor nods once, gathers his tools, and begins to leave.
“Rest,” he adds before stepping out. “No stress. No exertion.”
Then the door closes behind him.
Silence returns.
But it doesn’t feel empty. Not anymore.
Timofey doesn’t move. Not even when the footsteps fade outside. Not even when the room settles back into stillness.
He stays exactly where he is—holding me. Like he made a decision he isn’t willing to reconsider.
I shift slightly against him, and his grip tightens instinctively in response.
“I’m fine,” I whisper again, softer now.
“I know,” he replies immediately.
But he still doesn’t let go.
“What happened?” he asks finally. His voice is lower now, controlled—but there’s something sharp underneath it. Something dangerous he’s already trying to contain.
I swallow, my throat still dry, but I force the words out anyway.
“I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “I only had one thing today.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“The soup,” I continue. “Someone brought it from the kitchen. I didn’t think anything of it. It was normal. It looked normal.”
My fingers tighten faintly against his shirt.
“Everything here has been checked,” I add, my voice shaking just a little now. “Elena monitors everything. The staff—security—it’s all supposed to be controlled.”
Silence settles between us again. But this time it’s not calm. It’s loaded.
Timofey’s jaw tightens. I feel it under my cheek before I even see it.
“Then someone inside this estate is responsible,” he says quietly.
Not a question. A conclusion.
I lift my eyes to his. “Timofey—”
“I’ll handle it,” he cuts in immediately. His voice is firm now. Absolute. “Personally.”
Something in his expression shifts—cold, focused, already moving away from me mentally into whatever he’s about to do next.
He starts to pull back.
That’s when I grab him.
