Chapter 135
Julian's POV
We settled onto the couch—Lucas on one end, still a bit stiff, and me leaning back on the other. I gave him space to breathe, but I also needed him to understand the reality of where we stood.
"There's something you should know," I began. "The federal system isn't as clean as people think. There are factions. Old alliances. Political debts. When I was assigned to this region, I stepped into territory that—on paper—still belongs to my predecessor. Anyone perceived as being 'mine' becomes a target."
Lucas frowned. "So you kept your distance on purpose?"
"Exactly." I held his gaze. "If I'd shown you favoritism in public, you'd have been marked. Pulled into fights that have nothing to do with you. I needed you neutral."
A beat of silence. Then Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at me with something close to determination.
"You didn't have to explain all that," he said. "But since you did… look, whatever you need, just say the word. We're on the same team."
The knot in my chest loosened slightly. I nodded.
"Good."
Then a sound cut through the quiet—a soft, pained groan from upstairs.
I was on my feet before I consciously registered moving. Pure instinct, every nerve wired to her distress. I took the stairs quickly, Lucas's footsteps trailing somewhere behind me.
The bedroom door was ajar. I pushed it open.
Nora was curled on her side, one hand pressed to her temple, face pale and pinched with discomfort.
I crossed the room in three strides and sat on the edge of the bed. My hand found hers immediately, closing around it gently.
"Hey," I murmured, keeping my voice low. "Still hurts?"
She blinked up at me, eyes glassy. "A little."
"It'll pass," I said softly, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. "You're okay. I'm here. Just breathe."
Her breathing evened out slightly. I stayed exactly where I was, unwilling to move until I was certain the pain had eased. My other hand smoothed a strand of damp hair away from her face.
After a moment, her grip on my hand relaxed. Her eyes fluttered shut again, and the tension in her shoulders faded. She sank back into sleep.
I exhaled slowly, then leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead.
"Rest," I whispered.
---
Lucas's POV
I stood in the hallway, watching Julian step out of the bedroom. He moved carefully, quietly, like he didn't want to disturb even the air around her.
When he turned and saw me still standing there, he didn't say anything. Just walked past me toward the stairs. I followed.
Back in the living room, I dropped onto the couch. Julian stood for a moment, arms crossed loosely, before finally sitting down across from me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
I kept replaying what I'd just seen—Julian sitting on the edge of that bed, holding Nora's hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The way he'd looked at her. The way his voice had gone soft.
There'd been no performance in it. No awareness of an audience. He'd just… been there. Completely present. Completely hers.
This was real.
"You really care about her," I said finally. It wasn't a question.
Julian didn't hesitate. "Yes."
I nodded slowly, letting that settle. "I've never seen you like that. With anyone."
"Because there's never been anyone," he said simply.
I believed him. Everything about the way he'd moved—the urgency, the tenderness—told me this wasn't something he knew how to fake.
I leaned back against the couch and exhaled. "Alright. I can live with leaving her in your hands. For now."
Julian's expression didn't change much, but I caught the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, shifting gears.
I shook my head. "Not yet."
"I was going to make something for Nora. Porridge." He glanced toward the kitchen. "You can have some."
I raised an eyebrow. "You cook?"
"I can learn."
---
In the kitchen, I watched Julian pull out his phone and open a video tutorial. He squinted at the screen, paused it, then measured out oats with the kind of focus most people reserve for defusing bombs.
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
"You're seriously learning how to cook from a tutorial app?"
He didn't look up. "Do you have a better suggestion?"
"No," I admitted, grinning. "But I didn't think the Federal Inspector General would need cooking tutorials."
"Everyone starts somewhere." He measured the water carefully. "If you're going to stand there and judge, you might as well help."
I rolled my eyes but stepped forward, grabbing a wooden spoon. "Fine. What do you need?"
Together, we managed to get the porridge simmering. Julian checked the video every thirty seconds, adjusting the heat, stirring at precise intervals. It was kind of ridiculous. It was also kind of endearing.
"Not bad," I said after tasting a spoonful. "Honestly, I expected worse."
He shot me a look. I grinned.
---
When the porridge was done, Julian set aside a bowl for Nora and handed me one. I ate quickly, and when I finished, I rinsed the bowl without being asked and set it in the drying rack.
"Thanks," I said.
Julian nodded. "Don't mention it."
I hesitated, glancing toward the stairs. "I should probably go. Let her rest."
"I'll tell her you came by."
I started toward the door, then stopped and looked back at him.
He was standing in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.
"You're good for her," I said quietly. "I can see that now. So… for what it's worth, you've got my approval. Temporarily."
Julian met my gaze. "I'll take it."
I smirked. "Don't screw it up."
"I don't plan to."
---
Nora's POV
I woke to something warm and wet nudging my hand.
My eyes fluttered open. A pair of huge amber eyes stared back at me, framed by pointed ears and a black muzzle. Lily. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, tail swishing slowly, making soft little whining sounds like she was trying not to wake me but also desperately wanted my attention.
I couldn't help it. I smiled.
"Hey, girl," I whispered, lifting one finger to touch her nose.
She licked my palm immediately, her tongue rough and warm. This massive, intimidating German Shepherd—who I'd been terrified of just days ago—was acting like an overgrown puppy.
I coughed lightly, and the bed shifted.
Julian stirred beside me, his arm still draped around my waist. His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, before landing on me.
"Hey," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "How do you feel?"
"Better," I said softly.
Relief flickered across his face. He reached up and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, checking for fever. When he seemed satisfied, he exhaled slowly.
"Thank God," he muttered.
I turned my head slightly, taking in the room. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. The IV was gone. I was in Julian's bed, wrapped in his blankets, and he was looking at me like I'd just come back from the edge of something terrible.
"Thank you," I whispered.
His hand moved to my chin, tilting my face gently toward his.
"Don't," he said, voice soft but firm. "No more thank-yous."
Before I could argue, he leaned down and kissed me.
Slow. Unhurried. Claiming.
When he pulled back, my cheeks were warm—not from fever this time, but from something else entirely.
"You'll catch it," I said weakly, trying to sound stern.
He smiled against my lips. "A cold? That's nothing."