Dawn was a pale smear on the horizon when she finally left his side. Simon and Anya would continue the watch in shifts. Drakonius had drifted into a fitful sleep, his vital signs holding steady.
Elera walked through the silent house like a ghost. In the kitchen, she made tea, her movements automatic. She carried the mug to the great room with the wall of windows. The sunrise was painting the sky in violent shades of pink and gold, a stark, beautiful contrast to the sterile night in the lab.
She sat on the deep sofa, pulling a soft wool blanket around her shoulders. The adrenaline was gone, leaving a profound, hollow exhaustion. She had just taken the biggest professional risk of her life. She had injected a man with a experimental virus of her own design. The weight of it was a stone in her chest.
A soft sound made her turn. Drakonius stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane. He was dressed in the same dark trousers and sweater from the day before, his hair damp, as if he’d just washed his face. He looked utterly drained, but his gaze was clear.
“You should be resting,” she said, her voice rough with fatigue.
“So should you,” he replied. He made his way slowly across the room and lowered himself into an armchair opposite her, a small groan escaping him. “Sleep seems… unwise. I feel like I should be watching. In case my body decides to stage a rebellion.”
*Simon and Anya have alarms set for every possible parameter. If your body rebels, you’ll know.”
He nodded, looking out at the sunrise. “It’s a strange feeling. Knowing an army is marching through your veins, and you’re just the landscape.”
The poetic turn of phrase, so like him, made her throat tighten. “It’s not an army. It’s a repair crew. A very tiny, very specialized repair crew.”
He smiled faintly, still looking at the sky. “I like that better.” He was silent for a moment. “Thank you, Elera. For last night. For… the anchor.”


VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABEL
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: The Heiress He Underestimated