The silence in the hospital room had grown sharp edges. Isolde watched Caspian from her bed, her eyes narrowed. He was staring out the window, his posture rigid, a stranger wearing a familiar suit.
He was here. He was always here. But he was gone.
“You’re quiet today,” she said, her voice a silken thread meant to snare him.
Caspian turned, his face a mask of gentle concern that no longer reached his eyes. “Just worried. This has all been a lot for you.”
“For me?” Isolde laughed, a brittle sound. “Or for you, Caspian? You’ve barely looked at me since that pathetic woman announced her pregnancy on national television.”
He crossed the room and took her hand. His touch was cool, distant. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just tired of her endless drama. My only concern is your health.” His performance was flawless, a perfect echo of the man he had been just weeks ago.
But she felt the change. A hollowness where his devotion used to be. He was a beautiful, empty vessel, and the knowledge sent a spike of pure panic through her. She was losing him. She was losing control.
He made an excuse about a call with Hawthorne Industries and stepped into the hallway. The moment the door clicked shut, Isolde snatched her phone from the bedside table. Her thumb flew across the screen, dialing a number she knew by heart.
“It’s not working,” she hissed when the line connected. “The staged attack gave us sympathy, but Lyra is still a fixture. She’s still on that stupid show, and he’s… drifting.”
The voice on the other end was calm, professional. “These things take time.”
“I don’t have time!” Isolde’s voice cracked with fury. “I need a kill shot. Something that doesn’t just wound her. Something that removes her from the board entirely. Find it.”
She ended the call and threw the phone onto the empty side of the bed. She would not lose. She would burn Lyra’s world to the ground before she let that happen.
***
In a sterile conference room miles away, Caspian slid a tablet across the table to Zara. “Nothing. My people have run her name—Maria Sanchez—through every database we have. There are thousands. Without a last known address or a social security number, it’s a dead end.”
Zara’s expression was grim. She pushed the tablet back. “So Isolde drops a name on television, a ghost, and we’re left chasing shadows.” The tension of their unwilling alliance hummed between them.
Caspian ran a hand over his face, the exhaustion of his double life etched into his features. “Isolde is getting suspicious. I can feel her watching me, testing the walls.” He paused, his voice dropping. “And Lyra… Every day this continues, she’s the one paying the price.”
An image flashed in his mind: Lyra, years ago, telling him a whispered, halting story about her childhood, her eyes wide with a pain he had promised to erase. A promise he had shattered.
The guilt was a physical weight, pressing down on his chest. “We have to find that caregiver,” he said, his voice raw. “Whatever it takes.”
Zara simply nodded, her jaw tight. The trail was cold, the pressure was mounting, and Isolde was cornered. A cornered animal was the most dangerous kind.
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