Chapter 202
Chapter 202
Elora
Cade's eyebrows rose slightly. "Elora—"
"My father goes last." The words came out flat. Certain. Final. "He's unconscious but stable. These people—" I gestured toward the other beds, even though I couldn't see them clearly in the darkness. "They're awake. They're scared. They need to get out of here more than he does. And besides..." I swallowed hard, forcing myself to say it. "This is my fault. If it weren't for me, Sienna wouldn't have targeted this room. She wouldn't have poisoned these people. They're innocent bystanders in my family's fucked-up war."
Something shifted in Cade's expression. The smirk faded, replaced by something softer. Warmer. He reached out, his hand finding mine in the darkness, his fingers threading through mine with a gentleness that made my chest ache.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Then we wait. We go last."
I nodded, grateful beyond words that he didn't argue. That he understood.
"What about Sienna?" I asked, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "That psychotic bitch who's apparently decided to become a full-blown terrorist—where is she?"
Cade's jaw tightened. "I didn't have time to deal with her. I had to get up here, make sure you were..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "She held on to me like a fucking rabid animal. Even after I hit her hard enough to make her vomit blood, she wouldn't let go. Just kept screaming about how I should save my strength. How I'd need it to carry Alistair's corpse."
"Jesus Christ." The words came out strangled. "She's completely lost it."
"She's a fanatic," Cade agreed. "And a slippery one. My security team almost had her cornered when she pulled some parkour shit and disappeared into the stairwell. They're still hunting her down as we speak."
My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms hard enough to hurt. "She'd better pray they don't find her. Because if I get my hands on her—"
"Mr. Rhodes?" A nurse's voice, tentative and apologetic, cut through our conversation. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have a patient in bed nine who's in critical condition. He needs extra support during the transfer, and we're short-staffed. Could you possibly...?"
Cade started to refuse—I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his grip on my hand tightened—but I squeezed back gently, cutting him off before he could speak.
"Go," I said softly. "These people didn't ask to be dragged into this mess. They deserve help."
He hesitated, his eyes searching mine in the darkness. "Don't move from this spot. It's dark. I'll be right back."
"I'll be fine."
He didn't look convinced, but he went anyway, his footsteps fading into the controlled chaos of the evacuation. I watched him disappear into the shadows, then turned back to my father's bedside.
Slowly, methodically, the patients were transferred out. Each departure was accompanied by the shuffle of feet, the creak of wheelchair wheels, the murmured reassurances of medical staff. The room grew quieter with each evacuation, the voices fading one by one until there was nothing left but the sound of my own breathing and the steady beep of my father's heart monitor.
I pulled out my phone, squinting at the screen in the darkness. 3:47 AM. God. Tonight felt endless. Like I'd lived an entire lifetime in the span of a few hours.
Exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. My limbs felt heavy, my eyelids heavier. I set the phone aside and leaned forward, resting my head on the edge of my father's bed. Just for a moment. Just to close my eyes for a second.
The darkness wasn't frightening. Not here, with Dad's warmth radiating through the thin hospital blanket, his presence solid and real beside me. For the first time in hours—maybe days—I felt safe.
I don't know how long I stayed like that. Time lost meaning in the darkness, stretching and compressing in ways that made no sense. But eventually, gradually, I became aware of a new sound.
Footsteps.
Measured. Deliberate. The sharp click of leather shoes against linoleum—the same sound Cade's dress shoes had been making all night. Steady and confident, approaching with the unhurried pace of someone who had all the time in the world.
I didn't lift my head. Didn't move. Just let the sound grow closer, louder, more distinct. Cade was coming back. Everything was fine. We'd get Dad transferred, and then we could finally—
A smell hit me. Sharp. Chemical. Wrong.
"Cade?" I kept my head down, my voice muffled against the blanket. "Why do you smell like... antiseptic? It's like someone dumped an entire pharmacy on you."
The footsteps didn't slow. Didn't stop. No response came.