Chapter 9
Monday began badly and became stranger from there.
I reached lecture one second before the door closed, slid into the seat beside Mia, and promised myself I would spend the next hour thinking about beta-blockers.
Ten minutes later, the lecturer called my name.
“Miss Zane, contraindications for question three?”
I stared at the board.
Question three had apparently happened without me.
Mia pushed her notes toward my elbow.
I answered from the highlighted section, earned an approving nod, and sank into my seat.
“You were thinking about him,” Mia whispered.
“I was thinking about cardiovascular thresholds.”
“Your ears are red.”
I covered them with both hands.
Mia looked delighted.
At lunch, I finally surrendered enough truth to ask, “Do you think first impressions can be wrong?”
She stopped stealing fries from my plate.
“Yes. People wear armour.”
“Armour?”
“Some people learn early that being soft is expensive. So they become difficult to reach.”
I stirred my iced coffee.
“He wasn’t what I expected.”
Mia’s face lit up.
“There he is.”
“I did not say his name.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Across the city, Ethan Brooks was discovering that General Alexander Reeves could also become distracted.
Alexander had been staring at a secured section of a tactical map long after the relevant operation had been closed.
“General,” Ethan said carefully, “that quadrant was cleared three days ago.”
Alexander looked at him.
“Was it?”
Ethan allowed himself precisely one second of satisfaction.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your observation is noted.”
“Is the civilian asset causing an operational distraction?”
The room seemed to cool.
“Focus on the perimeter, Ethan.”
“Of course, General.”
That evening, distraction stopped being amusing.
Alexander returned to the Reeves Estate and found staff moving quickly through the foyer.
His grandmother had suffered a severe drop in blood pressure.
He reached her room while the physician was packing his bag.
“She is stable,” the doctor said, “but her heart is fragile. Stress must be minimised.”
Alexander sat beside Eleanor after the physician left.
“You should have called me.”
“You were working.”
“Irrelevant.”
She touched his hand.
“I am still here.”
“I know.”
“For now.”
He looked away.
Eleanor followed his gaze around the enormous bedroom.
“Before I go, I would like to see this house feel alive again.”
“It is fully staffed.”
She laughed despite her weakness. “A staff is not a family, Alexander. This place is a tomb.”
Across town, my father sat in a cardiologist’s office receiving news he did not tell me that night.
His heart failure had progressed. Medication could manage symptoms, not reverse the damage. Another severe event might be fatal.
“I need time,” he told the doctor.
When he came home, I knew something was wrong.
His skin was grey; his breathing shallow.
I fed him soup and made him promise to reduce his workload. He agreed too easily.
Later, Dad came to my room and sat opposite my desk.
“How have you been since Saturday?”
“The date?”
He nodded.
“Better than I expected,” I admitted. “Don’t get excited. We live in different universes. I probably won’t see him again.”
Dad looked down at his hands.
“There may be another favour I need to ask.”
I groaned. “Every time you say favour, my blood pressure rises.”
He laughed, but did not ask that night.
At the Reeves Estate, Richard made the same decision with his son. He called Alexander into his study, then postponed the conversation at the last moment.
Two fathers went to bed carrying the same proposal.
Two children sensed a storm without knowing its shape.
