He took a slow, agonizing step into the study.

His leather boots made no sound on the thick Persian rug.

He kept one hand tucked inside his coat pocket, his fingers curled around something heavy.

“It is impossible,” Luca stammered, shaking his head. “The doctor said… she said you wouldn’t survive the night.”

“The doctor works for me, Luca,” Alexander said. “Not for you.”

Dr. Voss did not speak, but her steady gaze remained fixed on Luca.

I let my fingers slip away from the heavy brass candlestick on the shelf behind me.

My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I feared they would hear it.

Marcus did not show any relief on his cold face, but his shoulders relaxed by a fraction of an inch.

“You should have checked the tea leaves yourself,” Alexander said, stopping near the edge of the mahogany desk.

He leaned against the wood, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the polished edge to steady himself.

With his other hand, he pulled a small, clear glass vial from his pocket.

It was filled with a dark, amber liquid.