Chapter 15
2193words
Sinclair Dominion Hospital | Private Wing | Raven’s Room
Kristina woke to stillness.
Not the fragile, uncertain stillness of sedation, but the kind that settled when people stopped hovering. The kind that let time breathe. For the first time since she’d opened her eyes two days ago, she was alone.
Her shoulder throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat. Less sharp now. Less urgent. But ever-present, a quiet metronome of pain that tethered her fully to her body again.
She drew a breath and let it go, slow and deliberate. She wasn’t dizzy anymore. No nausea. Just sore muscles, tension in her spine, and a faint itch around the IV line on her hand. The painkillers had worn off, or someone had decided to lower the dosage. She didn’t blame them.
She wanted clarity.
A faint breeze stirred the edge of the curtain, slanted sunlight creeping in along the polished floor. The window had been cracked open slightly—someone had thought she’d want fresh air. She did. The scent of morning, of something green and distant, mixed with the clinical tinge of disinfectant and the lingering whisper of someone’s cologne.
Lucian’s, probably. She could still sense him in the room, even if he wasn’t there.
Kristina turned her head slowly and scanned the small table by her bedside. A few things had changed.
There were now three stacked books—none hers. A bouquet in a glass vase sat beside them: fresh-cut irises and hyacinths, elegant and oddly personal. There was a folded note tucked behind the vase, and beside that, her phone, face-down, like no one had dared unlock it.
But the detail that caught her was the pen lying next to the books. It wasn’t hospital-issued.
It was Maxim’s. The same model he’d always carried—black casing, silver clip, perfectly balanced. He left it there deliberately. A signature, not a message. I was here.
She reached for it with her good hand and picked it up. Cool to the touch. Familiar weight.
He hadn’t stayed long. She remembered brief moments from the past two days—Maxim’s voice like a rumble, Lucian’s quieter responses, shadows shifting in the periphery of her awareness. Someone had helped her drink water. Someone had held her hand once while she dreamed about blood.
She hadn’t cried.
Not from pain. Not from fear. Not even from memory.
But this morning, as the sun moved slowly across her blanket, Kristina found her throat tight—not with sorrow, exactly. Just the quiet, unbearable relief of still being here.
She hadn’t died.
And this time… someone had waited for her to wake up.
Sinclair Dominion Hospital | Rooftop Lounge
Mid morning
Lucian sat on the concrete ledge just beyond the safety railing, a lukewarm coffee in one hand and a half-read briefing folder in the other. He hadn’t touched the folder in twenty minutes. The stop at Sinclair Dominion had been brief—just long enough to reassure the board, sign off on the essentials, and remind them he was still breathing. But the moment he’d walked out of that building, his mind had already returned here.
The morning sky was pale and half-awake, the kind of quiet blue that made everything below it seem smaller. From this height, the world looked less chaotic. The city moved at a pace he could ignore. Even the noise—a steady hum of traffic, horns, and wind—was too far removed to feel real.
His coffee had gone cold.
He didn’t care.
Below him, somewhere in the private wing, Kristina was likely awake by now. He didn’t know if she was eating, if she was sitting up again, if she was looking out the window or staring at the ceiling—but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Not anymore.
He knew the way she woke. Sharply. Completely. As if no part of her ever truly rested.
The wind stirred his coat. He let it.
He thought of the last two days—not as memories, but as weight. Her body collapsing into his arms. The blood. The moment between the operating doors closing and the hospital curtain drawing, when all he’d had left to do was wait.
He’d felt helpless before. It came with the territory. But never like that.
Not for her.
And now, with the crisis behind them, something else had taken its place: a quiet, persistent question he hadn’t dared name aloud.
What happens now?
She wasn’t Raven anymore. And calling her Kristina still felt like a borrowed word—something he didn’t quite deserve to say.
But he wanted to.
Lucian exhaled and set the untouched file beside him. The breeze caught the edges, flipping a page over. He didn’t stop it.
For the first time in days, no one had called. No one needed orders. No threats pressed in. There was no strategy to execute.
Just the thought of her—awake, injured, but alive—and the strangely unfamiliar ache of knowing she might actually let him stay.
Sinclair Dominion Hospital | Private Wing Hallway
Late Afternoon
Kristina walked slowly, one hand wrapped around the IV pole, the other holding the edge of Lucian’s black shirt where it hung past her hips. It wasn’t the hoodie anymore—someone must have changed her into it earlier that morning—but the shirt still carried his scent, and for reasons she didn’t explore, that grounded her.
The hallway was dimmer than before, the lights softened to match the early dusk outside. The nurses let her pass without protest, likely briefed in advance about the patient who wouldn’t stay still no matter how many IVs she was connected to. A young orderly gave her a gentle nod as she passed. No judgment. Just quiet acknowledgment.
She moved with care, her gait uneven—the way her body instinctively protected her shoulder, each step a reminder of stiff muscles and ribs still tender beneath the skin. Each step was slow but deliberate, muscles stiff, pain buried just beneath the surface. She didn’t know where she was going. Only that staying in bed had started to feel like suffocating.
As she turned the corner toward the quiet lounge, she heard it before she saw them: the low rumble of voices, a bark of laughter, the unmistakable rustle of snack wrappers and paper cards.
Kristina stopped just at the edge of the doorway.
Inside, Eli was half-sprawled in an armchair, holding a hand of poorly fanned playing cards. Ash sat cross-legged on the couch, his shirt rumpled, a smug grin on his face as he accused Vex of cheating—again. Vex, predictably, had his feet up on the coffee table, slurping noodles from a paper bowl with the kind of defiance only sleep-deprived mercenaries could pull off.
Monopoly money was everywhere. No one seemed to be following any real rules. She had no idea who was winning.
The scene should have felt out of place. Chaotic. Inappropriate.
Instead, it was warm. Familiar.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the noise.
Kristina was about to turn back—quietly, before they noticed her—when Lucian appeared from the opposite hallway. He didn’t startle at the sight of her, didn’t rush over like she was fragile. He just stopped, met her eyes, and fell into step beside her without a word.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.
He gently turned her toward the lounge with the windows—the quieter one, the one on the other end of the floor that overlooked the skyline. She didn’t resist.
They walked slowly, their steps barely making a sound on the polished floor. The windows there stretched tall and wide, and the sky beyond was already dipped in amber and rose, the city glittering below like scattered glass.
Lucian opened the door and let her step inside first. Then he followed, pulling two chairs close to the window.
Kristina sat with care, adjusting the IV pole beside her. She didn’t sigh—but the way her shoulders eased said enough. Lucian didn’t speak. He just took the seat next to her, arms resting on his legs, eyes fixed on the same horizon.
After a long moment, she said softly, “It doesn’t feel real yet.”
He glanced at her. “The quiet?”
Kristina nodded. “That it lasted this long.”
They lapsed into silence again. Not awkward. Just still.
The city glowed beneath them. Nothing urgent. Nothing breaking.
And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.
Dinner came in two waves.
First, the nurse rolled in a standard hospital tray—bland broth, soggy rice, steamed vegetables that had never known seasoning. Kristina took one look and muttered, “If I stay here another day, I’m going to assassinate someone with a plastic spoon.”
Ten minutes later, the second wave arrived: Lucian, carrying a paper bag that smelled like actual food, followed by Sebastian with drinks and real cutlery, and, finally, Maxim—who stepped in as though the hospital wing still answered to him personally.
Trailing behind them were Eli, Vex, and Ash—each trying, and failing, to look like they hadn’t elbowed their way into this “private dinner.” Ash made a beeline for the windowsill seat. Vex claimed the corner armchair like a throne. Eli hovered near the foot of the bed, pretending not to stare at Maxim with thinly veiled curiosity.
Kristina, curled on the bed with her good arm tucked over a heating pad, raised a brow. “This looks suspiciously like smuggling.”
Lucian set the bag on the bedside table. “Technically, it’s a diplomatic bypass. Sebastian bribed a nurse with espresso.”
Sebastian shrugged. “No regrets.”
Maxim remained standing, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression softening slightly as he surveyed her from head to toe. “You look terrible,” he said, without malice.
Kristina smirked faintly. “You should see the other guy.”
Lucian unpacked the containers—steamed dumplings, rice rolls, glazed chicken, and something that looked suspiciously like soup, but better—and handed her the chopsticks first.
“I’m not feeding you,” he said.
Kristina took the utensils with her good hand. “That’s fine. I’m stabbing you if you try.”
In the corner, Ash exchanged a low, silent laugh with Vex, while Eli leaned just slightly on one foot, grinning without showing teeth.
The meal passed in a kind of tentative warmth. Conversation stayed light—mostly Sebastian needling Lucian for being a terrible cook, Kristina making sarcastic commentary between bites, and Maxim occasionally chiming in with dry observations that somehow still felt fatherly.
Until Kristina, halfway through her dumplings, announced flatly: “I want to go home.”
Lucian looked up immediately. “You can’t be discharged yet.”
“I know,” she said. “But if I stay here another night, I might actually kill someone. The nurse outside offered me a meditation app. I think that counts as a threat.”
Sebastian choked on his tea.
Maxim stepped forward. “You’ll come home with me. The estate’s secure. Familiar.”
Lucian didn’t even glance at him. “She’ll come home with me.”
The pause was instant. And sharp.
Vex, who’d been drinking directly from a juice carton, froze mid-sip. Ash sat up slightly straighter. Eli tilted his head, gaze bouncing between the two men like he was tracking the start of a sparring match.
Kristina blinked. “Okay, let’s not start—”
Maxim’s voice lowered, polite but firm. “She’s my responsibility. Has been for years.”
Lucian leaned back slightly in the chair, folding his arms. “She’s under my protection now. The contract—signed by both of us—puts full post-field authority in the employer’s hands.”
“That was for Raven,” Maxim said coolly. “This is Kristina.”
Lucian’s jaw tensed. “She’s always been both. That’s the point.”
Kristina set down her chopsticks slowly. “Boys.”
Both men stopped.
She looked from one to the other. “I’m not a suitcase.”
Sebastian chuckled under his breath. Ash subtly elbowed Vex, who didn’t even bother hiding his grin.
Lucian ran a hand through his hair. “Look. My estate’s quieter. No security swarming every corner. Fewer people watching her every move. She needs peace, not a military-grade lockdown.”
Maxim frowned. “She needs recovery. Stability. And someone who’s seen the years it took for her to let anyone close.”
Kristina lifted a brow. “I’m in the room, you know.”
Neither of them budged.
Finally, she said, “Papa, I know your place is safer. But he’s not wrong. I need quiet.” She turned to Lucian. “And you—try not to make it a power play. I’m not asking to be claimed. I just want… rest.”
Ash gave a slow nod like he approved. Eli mouthed something to Vex, who smirked and held up a mental scoreboard.
That softened something. Maxim exhaled through his nose, then gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. But if she falls down the stairs, she comes back with me.”
Lucian gave a half-smile. “Deal.”
Sebastian raised his cup. “Glad we settled that like civilized men.”
Kristina leaned back against the pillows, the food half-eaten, the argument half-playful. Her shoulder ached. Her ribs protested every breath. But the tension in her chest? That had started to ease.
For once, being wanted didn’t feel like a burden.
It just felt… human.
And for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like she had to choose between being that and being strong.
For once, she wasn’t choosing between strength and being seen—
and this time, she wasn’t leaving alone.
—To be continued.
