Chapter 13
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Sinclair Dominion Hospital | Private Wing | Raven’s Room
Lucian sat in the armchair beside her bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely laced in front of him, eyes fixed on the figure wrapped in soft linens just a breath away. The morning light filtered in through the narrow blinds, casting delicate slats across the room in tones of silver and gold. It had rained again in the early hours, soft and steady against the hospital windows, and the air still smelled faintly of ozone and antiseptic.
Before settling in, he’d asked one of the nurses—someone quiet, professional, and female—to help change her into the fresh clothes. He’d waited outside the room, jaw tight, fingers curled at his sides, until the door opened again and the nurse nodded once. No questions. No judgment. Just routine.
She hadn’t stirred. Not once. Her breath came in quiet, measured intervals. Steady. Peaceful. Alive.
Maxim had left not long ago, but his presence still lingered like an imprint in the room. Lucian had watched the man struggle with leaving—had seen it in the way his gaze hovered on her, in the silence before his steps finally retreated down the hall. But he’d gone, because Lucian had said the one thing he meant more than anything: that she wouldn’t be alone. That he would stay. And Maxim had looked at him—not like a CEO handing down authority, but like a father deciding if his daughter was safe in someone else's hands. Then he’d nodded once and disappeared.
Now it was just the two of them again.
Lucian couldn’t stop staring. Not because she looked peaceful, but because she was wearing his clothes. A black hoodie, soft and oversized, and drawstring sweatpants that weren’t hers—both clean, both too big. The sleeves nearly swallowed her hands. He didn’t need to ask how it happened. Ash, Vex, and Eli had clearly panicked—but not because she was Black Harrow. Even before that revelation, they’d known better than to touch her things. Raven had rules. Rigid ones. Her space was sacred, her routines carved in stone. She noticed everything, and she didn’t forgive easily. The only thing more terrifying than crossing her lines was not knowing you had. So instead of risking her closet, they’d defaulted to the next safest option: his clothes.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. They were afraid she’d kill them for touching her things—but not him. As if she’d give him a pass. As if that meant something. Maybe it did.
Maybe they sensed what he hadn’t let himself admit until now—that she treated him differently. That the lines she drew so ruthlessly with everyone else seemed to bend, however slightly, when it came to him. She never said it aloud. Never showed it in any obvious way. But there were moments—tiny, precise—where she let him closer. Where she hesitated instead of retreating. And now here she was, curled beneath a blanket in his clothes, wrapped in a piece of his life like it belonged to her.
He wondered if she would have protested, had she been awake. Probably. But maybe not. Maybe this—wearing something of his—felt safer than anything else. And if that wasn’t trust, then it was something dangerously close to it.
What unsettled him wasn’t the breach in protocol. It was the sight of her now—wrapped in fabric that belonged to him. The quiet claim of it. It wasn’t some logistical accident. It felt like a thread, a tether he hadn’t noticed forming between them until it tightened. And now that it had, he couldn’t unfeel it. She didn’t look like Black Harrow. Not a weapon. Not even Raven. She looked fragile. Smaller. Real.
And it terrified him.
He leaned back slightly, eyes still on her. Memory tugged at the edge of his thoughts—the first time he’d seen her, really seen her. She’d been a child then, just nine, tucked into the shadows behind Maxim’s frame when she’d first arrived. Quiet. Watchful. Her eyes had stayed with him, even when everything else about that moment had faded. They had been sharp, untrusting. A child's eyes, but far too old.
He hadn’t seen her again for years, though he’d always asked. Every visit to Maxim’s estate, every dinner, every passing opportunity—he’d inquired. And every time, Maxim’s answer was the same: “She’s fine. Traveling.” It was never specific. Never inviting. Just a closed door.
Then came the day he requested a bodyguard.
He’d gone to the estate in person, hoping for a better option than the names on paper. They were in the sitting room when she passed. No hesitation. No glance. Just brisk steps down the hall, disappearing before he could speak. But he’d seen her—shoulders squared, movement fluid. Lucian had turned to Maxim, asked if that was her. Asked how she’d been. Maxim’s answer hadn’t changed: “She’s fine. Always moving.”
But Lucian remembered her eyes. They hadn’t changed. Still unreadable. Still far away.
He’d wanted to speak to her. But he couldn’t.
And now she was here. Asleep in his clothes. Her name no longer a mystery.
Raven. Black Harrow. Kristina.
It was too much. It was all true. And it made him feel like he was standing at the edge of something with no idea how far the drop went.
A soft knock broke the quiet. Lucian looked up.
“Boss?” Sebastian stood in the doorway, his silhouette familiar even in the low light.
Lucian hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. Only a month had passed since Sebastian had woken from his coma. Lucian had sent him home immediately—no orders, no questions, just rest. With full salary and a bonus. He hadn’t wanted thanks. Just distance. But the fact that Sebastian had returned, unprompted, said everything Lucian needed to know.
Sebastian stepped inside, eyes on the figure in the bed. There was pain in his gaze—quiet, shaped by memory.
“You knew everything about her,” Lucian said. Not an accusation, but not a question either.
Sebastian nodded. “Yeah.”
Before Lucian could say anything else, the door opened again. Eli walked in with coffee and a paper bag, followed by Ash and Vex mid-conversation. The moment they saw Sebastian, they stopped.
“Seb?” Vex blinked. “What the hell—are you—?”
Ash didn’t wait. He crossed the room and hugged him, careful of his side. “You’re supposed to be on a beach somewhere.”
Sebastian smiled. “Yeah, I got bored.”
Vex grinned. “You look good. Less like roadkill.”
“Thanks,” Sebastian said dryly.
Eli set down the tray. “Wait—hold up. You’re okay now? Like, cleared?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Cleared enough to be here.”
Lucian said nothing, but his gaze didn’t leave him.
Ash glanced between the two. “So… you knew. The whole time?”
Sebastian’s answer was steady. “I did.”
He moved to the foot of the bed. “We go back. I’m maybe a year older than her. But she trained me.”
Lucian’s fingers tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet.
Eli blinked. “Wait. What?”
“She trained me,” Sebastian repeated. “Combat. Strategy. Everything. She was fourteen and already ahead of the rest of us. I was supposed to be her partner, but I never caught up.”
Ash murmured, “She trained us, too. Wrote the damn playbook.”
Vex nodded slowly. “But we never had any idea she was Black Harrow. We thought she was just a trainer. That’s why it floored us when they said she’d be leading the team as your bodyguards.”
Lucian’s stare didn’t waver. Every word fit. Every piece clicked tighter.
Sebastian’s voice dropped. “She didn’t want to be Black Harrow. Not at first. And Maxim didn’t want it either. They fought. He wanted her safe. But she wanted control. Said it was her only way to put the world in order.”
Eli said quietly, “So she chose this. She's OCD, that explains it. She wants to fix the world.”
Sebastian nodded. “Every part of it.”
He looked at Lucian again. “When I woke up and you told me someone else was filling in, I was relieved. But when you said it was Raven… I felt it in my gut. Something off. Couldn’t explain why.”
Lucian’s voice was low. “You didn’t think she could do it?”
Sebastian shook his head. “She’s better than all of us. But bodyguard work? It’s different. She’s used to calling the shots. As a bodyguard, she had to wait. React. Follow someone else’s lead. That’s not instinct for her.”
He paused. “Maybe that’s why she got hurt.”
Lucian looked back at her.
Eli asked, “What do you mean ‘that’s why she got hurt’? I’m sure she’s been hurt many times before. Right?”
Sebastian’s voice was steady. “No. Not once. Not on mission. Not a scratch.”
Ash and Vex both stiffened.
Sebastian continued. “She always came back clean. Not a bruise. Not a scar.”
He looked at Lucian one last time.
“This is the first time.”
The room was silent.
And Lucian understood what that meant more than anyone.
Moments later, they had their first meal of the day.They ate in silence at first.
The coffee was bitter, the food warm but forgettable. Eli tried to spark small talk, but it fizzled before it found momentum. Ash and Vex mostly picked at their portions, seated around the small visitor table by the window. Sebastian had moved to lean against the wall near the table, arms crossed, coffee cup cooling in his hand. He hadn’t eaten much either—just a few bites before pushing the tray aside, his gaze frequently drawn to the bed.
Lucian sat apart from them, near the armchair beside Kristina’s bed, the plate in his lap untouched. The fork rested idle at the edge, his fingers barely grazing it. Every so often, his eyes drifted to her—still asleep, still unmoving beneath the soft hospital linens.
Ash broke the silence first, glancing at the monitor beside the bed. “Vitals are good,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “Steady. No spikes since last update.”
“Good,” Eli muttered around a mouthful of rice. “Means she might yell at us soon.”
Vex huffed a breath, slouching in his seat. “That would be a comfort. At least yelling means she’s awake.”
“Think she’ll remember what happened?” Eli asked. “The whole thing?”
“Every second,” Sebastian said, speaking for the first time in minutes. “She doesn’t forget. Not when it matters.”
Ash nodded. “She probably already knows who stabbed her, where they were standing, and the depth of the stab wound.”
Vex added with a dry smile, “And what they were wearing and if their left shoe was untied.”
Eli chuckled quietly, but the sound didn’t last. “I just hope she wakes up.”
No one replied.
Lucian hadn’t said much in a while. He sat hunched forward slightly, eyes fixed on Kristina—not Raven, not Black Harrow. Just the girl in his clothes, small and unmoving beneath the blanket, like the storm hadn’t let her go yet. He heard their voices, but they felt far away.
He was somewhere else entirely.
His mind had wandered somewhere else—somewhere distant and dusty with time. Back to the first time he’d seen her.
A beat passed.
Then quietly, without looking up, he asked, “What happened to her parents?”
The room fell still. Even the ambient sound of the monitors seemed to hush around the question.
Sebastian shifted in his seat across from him, brow furrowing slightly. “Not a lot of people know the details,” he said. “And Kristina’s never talked about it. Not once. But Maxim told me some of it. Enough.”
Lucian turned his head slightly. “So what happened?”
Sebastian let out a slow breath. “There was a car crash. That’s how it was reported. Maxim found her at the scene. Said she was trying to fix them—her parents. Their bodies. Resetting their limbs. Straightening their coats. Like it mattered. Like if she got the angles right, they’d wake up again.”
Lucian didn’t blink.
But something in him recoiled—an ache sharp and sudden, like a wire pulled too tight in his chest. The image was too vivid. Too precise. He could see her small hands smoothing fabric that would never warm again, eyes dry but desperate to undo the permanence of death.
“She was nine,”
Sebastian added softly. “And completely silent when Maxim got to her. Just… focused. Detached.”
A long silence passed.
Then, more carefully, Sebastian continued, “Maxim looked into it afterward. Quietly. Didn’t tell her, I think. Maybe not even the full truth. But from what he found… her parents were trying to disappear. From a job they walked away from. Something they found out. Their boss—he wasn’t just shady. He was involved in something dangerous. Real bad.”
Lucian finally looked at him. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastian admitted. “Maxim wouldn’t say. Just that they were marked for knowing too much. And they tried to run. Take Kristina, vanish, start over.”
Lucian looked back at her. A breath left him, unsteady.
“But they didn’t make it,” Sebastian said. “And Maxim… he didn’t think it was an accident. Not really. Just made to look like one.”
He finally knew her name, her past, the pain she never spoke of—
and all he could do was wait,
hoping she’d still choose to let him in.
—To be continued.
