Sofia followed him, her expression a mix of anger and terror.

I stepped into the room behind them, keeping close to the wall.

The air in the bedroom was thick, smelling of antiseptic, sweat, and the damp chill coming from the cracked window.

Outside, the rain lashed against the glass, a steady, drumming beat that made the room feel even smaller.

Alexander lay in the center of the massive four-poster bed.

His face was grey, his breathing a shallow, rattling sound that filled the quiet room.

Dr. Elaine Voss stood by the bedside table, a syringe in her hand and her medical bag open.

She did not look up when we entered, her focus entirely on the IV line connected to Alexander’s arm.

In the corner of the room, near the shadows of the heavy velvet curtains, stood Marcus Hale.

His hands were folded over the silver handle of his cane.

His cold, gray eyes moved from Luca to the guards, then slowly to me.

He did not say a word, but his silence felt heavier than any accusation.