Chapter 133
Nora's POV
We walked to my car in silence. When we reached my beat-up Ford, he pulled out his phone.
"One more thing before you go."
I watched him open an app, the screen glowing between us. "What's this?"
"Security system for the house." He tapped through a few screens, then showed me. "It connects to the cameras. If you come back at night, you can use the speaker to call Lily. She'll come meet you."
My eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"
"Watch." He switched to a view of the courtyard, pressed the intercom button. "Lily, front gate."
On the screen, Lily immediately bolted from her kennel, sprinting toward the entrance with focused intensity.
"Holy shit." I took the phone from him, testing it myself. "Lily, come here."
She responded instantly, ears perked, eyes scanning the camera.
"She's incredibly well-trained," I breathed. "That's... actually amazing."
"She's not a pet." There was pride in his voice. "She's security. Better than any alarm system."
I handed the phone back, shaking my head with a small smile. "You're really going all-in, aren't you? The key, the fingerprint, now remote surveillance..."
"Is it working?" His eyes glinted.
"You're certainly persistent."
"Not persistent enough, apparently." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "My mate has very strong willpower."
The word mate sent warmth flooding through me. I rose on my toes, brushing my lips against his. "I told you. I need time. But I'm seriously considering it."
His arms came around me, holding me close for a long moment. "That's all I'm asking."
I pulled back reluctantly. "I really do need to go."
"Drive safe." He opened my car door. "Text me when you're home."
"Yes, sir."
His expression turned wry. "Don't start with that unless you want me following you."
I laughed, sliding into the driver's seat. Through the window, I watched him step back, hands in his pockets, waiting until I started the engine before heading inside.
---
Third-Person POV
A week later, the northern region entered its most volatile season. Spring storms rolled through Silverton, Blackwood, and the surrounding districts with relentless frequency. Rain fell in sheets for days at a time, overwhelming aging drainage systems and turning low-lying streets into shallow rivers.
Weather reports scrolled across every screen: Rainfall exceeds seasonal average by 50%. Flood warnings in effect. Residents advised to avoid travel.
For Nora, the storms meant work. Endless, exhausting work.
She stood knee-deep in floodwater in a rural village, rain soaking through her weatherproof jacket despite its supposed protection. Her microphone was wrapped in plastic, her boots full of cold water, her teeth chattering as she narrated disaster statistics for the camera.
Behind her, volunteers ferried elderly residents out of flooded homes in rubber rafts. One woman clutched a bundle of soaked blankets, sobbing on a second-floor balcony.
---
Thursday night. 11 PM. Silverton General Hospital's ER was overflowing.
Nora interviewed a delivery driver with a shattered leg from slipping in the rain, a sanitation worker suffering from infection after wading through contaminated water.
A doctor slumped against the nurses' station, eyes bloodshot. "We've been running at 300% capacity for seventy-two hours straight."
Nora's notebook filled with scribbled observations, her fingers stiff from gripping the pen too long. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.
---
Friday. The rain finally stopped. Pale sunlight broke through the clouds.
Nora and Vincent drove to the Silverton meteorological center for a technical interview. Doppler radar images. Climate models. Expert commentary on long-term weather pattern shifts.
She spent three hours recording, then another two editing. The broadcast went live Saturday morning at 7 AM: Storm Season: How Climate Change is Reshaping the Northern Region's Future.
Before it aired, Nora was already back at her desk, staring at her computer screen with blurry vision.
---
Nora's POV
Saturday. 5 AM. The office was silent except for the hum of my computer.
I saved the final disaster recovery report and closed the file. Pale dawn light filtered through the windows, turning everything soft gold.
I stood, legs shaky beneath me. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, heavy and dull. I sneezed three times in a row, my sinuses clogged and aching.
Just need water. Then I can go home.
I made it two steps toward the break room before my vision exploded into golden sparks.
The floor tilted. My ears rang like I'd been standing next to a jet engine. I grabbed for my desk, but my depth perception was gone—I missed, stumbled, and collapsed back into my chair.
The world kept spinning. I gripped the armrests, gulping air, trying to fight off the blackness creeping in at the edges of my vision.
---
I woke to fire.
Not literal flames, but something close—heat crawling through my veins, wrapping around my organs, squeezing until I couldn't breathe. My head throbbed like someone was hammering nails into my skull from the inside, and every pulse sent a fresh wave of agony through my temples. My eyes felt swollen, the lids too heavy to lift. When I finally forced them open, the white ceiling above me swam in and out of focus.
Hospital. The sharp smell of antiseptic confirmed it. I turned my head—slow, every movement deliberate—and saw the IV stand, the bag of fluids dripping steadily into my hand. Outside the window, the sky had darkened to deep twilight.
How long have I been out?
I tried to speak, but my throat felt like sandpaper. "How did I…"
"You collapsed." The voice came from my left, low and strained.
I squinted through the haze until Julian came into focus. He sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. Relief flickered across his face when our eyes met, but it vanished fast, replaced by something harder.
He stood, leaning over to adjust my pillow. His touch was careful, but his words weren't. "Do you remember passing out? Or were you too busy destroying yourself to notice?"
I flinched. "I'm sorry—"
"Your coworker found you face-down on the office floor." His jaw was tight. "Do you know what it felt like to get that call? Jessie called me. Said you'd collapsed."
"I didn't mean to worry you."
"Didn't mean to." He laughed, bitter. "Nora. Days wading through freezing rain, barely eating, running yourself into the ground. Your body isn't made of steel."
I wanted to argue, to explain that the disaster coverage mattered, that people needed to see those reports. But the words stuck in my raw throat. "I just… I thought I could push through…"
"You thought wrong." He picked up the cup from the nightstand, poured water, held it to my lips. "This isn't dedication. This is self-destruction."
I drank slowly, the coolness soothing the burn all the way down. When I finished, he set the cup aside and adjusted the IV drip. His hands were so gentle, his voice so hard—the contrast left me not knowing what to feel.
"I'm sorry." The concern in his eyes made my nose sting, heat prickling at the corners of my own. "I didn't think it would get this bad…"
"Now you know." He squeezed my hand gently. "Don't do it again."
I nodded, throat too tight to speak.
We sat in silence after that. He refilled my water, tucked in the blanket, watched the monitors like he was personally responsible for every number on the screen. I wanted to tell him I could manage on my own, but I couldn't say it, because it wasn't true. And somewhere along the way, I'd stopped wanting to say it at all.
"Stay put," he said quietly. "Doctor's orders."
"Okay."
He blinked, clearly surprised by how easily I gave in. "Rest."
"Mm." I let my eyes drift shut.