Z

Declan hated hospitals.

I learned that at four in the morning while sitting beside him in a private trauma room at St. Augustine Medical Center.

The explosion had been designed as a distraction, not an assassination.

A car in the east courtyard had gone up in flames.

The blast shattered windows and gave Patrick Crane enough chaos to escape through a service exit.

Declan had received six stitches above his eyebrow.

He behaved as if this were a personal insult.

“You need to stop moving.”

“I’m sitting.”

“You’ve tried to stand up three times.”

“I have work.”

“You have a concussion.”

“Mild.”

“The doctor said probable.”

“He looked uncertain.”

“He was uncertain because you threatened him when he tried to keep you overnight.”

Declan stared at me.

“I didn’t threaten him.”

“You asked whether he enjoyed owning a medical license.”

“That was a question.”

I crossed my arms.

He almost smiled.

The expression disappeared quickly.

“You should go home.”

“I don’t have a home anymore.”

He frowned.

“My landlord called.”

“What happened?”

“Someone broke into my apartment.”

His face became still.

“When?”

“While we were at Velvet Saint.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were getting stitches.”

“Lena.”

“Ronan already knows.”

That did not help.

Declan reached for his phone.

I grabbed it.

“No.”

His eyes lowered to my hand.

“You confiscated my phone?”

“For ten minutes.”

His gaze snapped toward mine.

I hadn’t realized what I’d said.

Ten minutes.

The phrase that had followed me through every exhausting night.

The phrase Declan had used beside my bed.

Something softened between us.

He leaned back.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Ten minutes.”

I put his phone on the table.

The silence that followed was strangely peaceful.

Hospitals usually made me sick.

Everything smelled like Sophie.

Antiseptic.

Plastic.

Coffee that had been sitting too long.

Machines whispering in dark rooms.

My chest tightened.

Declan noticed.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

“You hate it here.”

“How do you know?”

“Your left hand hasn’t stopped shaking since we arrived.”

I looked down.

He was right.

I hid it beneath my thigh.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Hide things because somebody notices.”

I stared at him.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No.”

His answer surprised me.

“It isn’t.”

He looked toward the dark window.

For several seconds, the legend disappeared.

No guards.

No tailored suit.

No men waiting for orders.

Just a tired man with stitches above his eye.

“My mother died in this hospital,” he said.

I froze.

“I didn’t know.”

“Most people don’t.”

“What happened?”

He hesitated.

Then continued.

“My father had enemies. One of them decided threatening him directly was ineffective.”

My stomach tightened.

“She was kidnapped?”

“For two days.”

His voice remained flat.

Too flat.

“When they released her, she was alive. Barely.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She lasted eleven hours.”

Declan stared at the floor.

“I was seventeen.”

Suddenly I understood why he had stayed beside me.

Why my unconscious hand around his wrist had affected him.

Why he had sat there for hours instead of walking away.

“You couldn’t leave her.”

His eyes moved toward mine.

“What?”

“At the hospital.”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

“I held Sophie’s hand too,” I whispered.

Declan looked away.

“She kept apologizing.”

“For dying?”

“For costing money.”

His jaw tightened.

“That’s why I kept paying Rourke.”

My eyes burned.

“Every payment felt like I was telling Sophie her life had been worth the price.”

Declan’s voice softened.

“Lena.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.”

That was worse.

Tears slipped down my face.

“I was angry at her.”

He waited.

“The last month.”

I could barely say it.

“I was so tired. I kept telling myself I wasn’t angry, but I was. I was working all day and sleeping in hospital chairs, and one night she asked me to drive across town because she wanted strawberry ice cream from this ridiculous place near the harbor.”

A laugh broke through my tears.

“I snapped at her.”

“What did you say?”

“That she was selfish.”

Declan said nothing.

“She died three days later.”

The guilt I had carried for eighteen months opened completely.

“I never got to take it back.”

Declan reached across the small space between us.

His hand covered mine.

“You were exhausted.”

“I hurt her.”

“You loved her.”

“Both can be true.”

“Yes.”

His answer was quiet.

“That’s what nobody tells you about grief.”

I looked at him.

“You can love someone completely and still fail them in moments.”

He stared at our hands.

“Otherwise grief would be easy.”

For several minutes, neither of us spoke.

Then the door opened.

Ronan entered carrying two coffees.

He stopped.

His eyes dropped toward our joined hands.

I pulled mine away.

Declan didn’t.

Ronan gave me a look I chose to ignore.

“We found Patrick,” he said.

Declan straightened.

“Where?”

“Not Patrick himself. His car.”

“Empty?”

“Burned.”

Declan’s face hardened.

“And Rourke?”

“Missing.”

“What about Vale?”

Ronan placed his phone on the table.

“Camden Vale landed in Grayhaven tonight.”

The room went silent.

“He’s here?” I asked.

Ronan nodded.

Declan stood.

This time I didn’t stop him.

“What does that mean?”

Declan buttoned his shirt slowly.

“It means Rourke lost control.”

“Of what?”

“Of me.”

Ronan’s expression was grim.

“Vale wouldn’t come personally unless something mattered.”

I looked between them.

“The ledgers.”

Declan shook his head.

“More than that.”

His gaze settled on me.

I understood immediately.

“Me.”

“Yes.”

My stomach dropped.

“I don’t know anything.”

“You know enough to testify.”

“Then I’ll testify.”

Declan’s jaw tightened.

“That isn’t the answer I wanted.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

“Lena—”

“No.”

I stood.

“You don’t get to dig me out of one cage just to put me in a safer one.”

Something flashed across his face.

“I am trying to keep you alive.”

“And I’m trying to have a life worth keeping.”

We stared at each other.

Then Declan nodded once.

Not agreement.

Respect.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“You testify.”

Ronan sighed like a man watching two trains move toward the same bridge.

Declan stepped closer.

“But until Vale is handled, you stay somewhere protected.”

“Where?”

He held my gaze.

“My house.”

I laughed.

“No.”

“Lena.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You collapsed there once already. Statistically, your odds of repeating the experience are low.”

I stared at him.

“Was that a joke?”

“I’ve been told I’m developing.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

Declan watched me.

And for one dangerous second, the hospital disappeared.

The debt disappeared.

The war disappeared.

There was only his hand brushing mine.

Then Ronan cleared his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever horrifying thing this is becoming.”

Declan’s eyes never left me.

“What?”

Ronan held up his phone.

“Camden Vale sent a message.”

Declan took it.

He read the screen.

Every trace of warmth vanished.

“What did he say?” I asked.

Declan turned the phone so I could see.

One sentence.

Bring me Lena Mercer, and this ends.

I read it twice.

Then I looked at Declan.

“What are you going to do?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“Make him regret learning your name.”