The room filled quickly, but Lord Typhon never moved from her side.
Eugene was the first to arrive, breathless yet composed, already issuing quiet instructions to the servants. "Warm water. Clean cloths. Notify the physician at once." His eyes flicked to Sapphire, pale and unmoving, then to Typhon, lingering there for a fraction longer.
The physician hurried in moments later, sleeves rolled, bag clutched tight. He bowed quickly, all ceremony stripped away by urgency, and went straight to Sapphire. Fingers checked her pulse, her breathing. He lifted her eyelids gently, frowned, then listened again.
Typhon watched every movement, rigid with restraint.
"Well?" he demanded softly.
The physician straightened. "She is exhausted, my lord. Severely so. Stress, prolonged exertion, and irregular meals. Her body simply… gave way."
Typhon's jaw tightened. "She doesn't fall for nothing."
"No," the physician agreed carefully. "But even the strongest do not outrun fatigue forever. She has been pushing herself beyond reason."
Typhon exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. His hand remained near Sapphire's, not quite touching, as though afraid to startle her back into pain.
"She needs rest," the physician continued. "Proper meals. Regular sleep. No work for several days, at least."
"And if she refuses?" Typhon asked.
The physician hesitated, then said honestly, "Then it will happen again. Perhaps worse."
That was enough.
Typhon dismissed him with a sharp nod. "You may go. Eugene, see him paid and sent away."
Eugene bowed and ushered the physician out, casting one last knowing glance over his shoulder before the door closed quietly behind them.
Silence settled.
Sapphire stirred faintly, a small sound leaving her throat. Typhon leaned in instantly, this time allowing his fingers to close around hers, grounding, warm.
"You're infuriating," he murmured under his breath, not unkindly. "And reckless."
Her brow creased, as if she heard him even through sleep.
Sapphire slept again, this time more peacefully, her breathing steady at last.
Typhon watched the rise and fall of her chest with the same focus he would give a battlefield map. He told himself it was vigilance. Responsibility. A lord ensuring an asset did not break under strain.
Nothing more.
He loosened his grip and withdrew his hand, standing slowly. Distance was necessary. He paced once, then twice, irritation flickering across his face for reasons he refused to name.
"She works herself into ruin," he muttered.
Eugene, standing discreetly near the door, inclined his head. "She carries much, my lord."
"As do many," Typhon replied curtly. "They do not collapse in public squares."
Yet even as he spoke, his senses betrayed him, the lingering echo of her pulse, now steadier, still vivid in his mind. He turned away sharply, jaw tight. He had learned long ago to ignore instincts that led nowhere useful.
She stirred, lashes fluttering.
Typhon was back at her side before he realized he'd moved.
Her eyes opened, unfocused at first. "Why am I here?" she asked, voice rough with sleep.
"You fainted," he said evenly. "Again, do not argue. You lost."
She frowned faintly. "I don't lose."
"You did today."
That earned a weak huff of laughter. "Temporary setback."
"Call it what you like," Typhon replied. "You will remain here until you recover."
She shifted, testing her strength. "I don't like being confined."
"I don't like people collapsing under my watch," he countered.
Their gazes held, not heated, not tender, simply two stubborn wills refusing to yield.
Finally, Sapphire looked away. "Raphael caused a scene, didn't he?"
"He did his duty."
She sighed. "He always does. In his own… unsettling way."
Typhon said nothing. For now, he focused on the present.
"You will eat," he said. "You will rest. And you will stop pretending exhaustion is a moral failing."
She blinked at him. "That almost sounded like concern."
"It was instruction."
"Of course," she murmured, unconvinced but too tired to press further.
Her eyes closed again, not fully asleep, just drifting. After a moment, she spoke softly, unaware of how close her words cut.
"You didn't have to stay."
Typhon answered without looking at her. "I had nothing urgent."
Another lie.
She accepted it easily. Sapphire always did, taking people at their word, never questioning the silences beneath.
As her breathing deepened, Typhon remained where he was, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
He did not name the strange pull that kept him there. He did not question why leaving felt… inefficient.
***
Sapphire woke to pain.
Not sharp, just heavy. A dull pounding behind her eyes that made her blink slowly, carefully, as if too much movement might split her head in two. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
She turned her head.
The chair by the bedside was empty.
For a moment, something sank in her chest before she could stop it. Disappointment, quick and unwelcome. She frowned at herself immediately.
Of course he's gone, she thought. He's a lord. He has duties.
Still, her gaze lingered on the chair. The way it had been turned slightly toward the bed. The faint crease in the cushion, as if someone had sat there for a long time without moving.
She exhaled and shifted, pressing a hand to her temple. "Ridiculous," she murmured.
The door opened softly.
Eugene entered first, composed as always, followed by a servant carrying a covered bowl. Behind them, Lord Typhon.
Sapphire's breath caught, subtle enough that she almost missed it herself.
Typhon paused when he saw she was awake. "You should not sit up."
"I wasn't planning to," she replied, voice dry. "Thinking hurts enough."
He crossed the room and took the bowl from the servant himself. "You need to eat."
Her brow creased. "You left to lecture the kitchen?"
"I left to instruct them," he corrected. "There is a difference."
He set the bowl down, lifting the lid. Steam curled into the air, carrying the scent of herbs and warmth. Simple. Careful. Human.
"For a sick human," he added, as if it were an afterthought. "Apparently, it requires fewer spices."
Despite the ache in her head, Sapphire smiled.
Not wide. Not obvious.
Just enough.
"You didn't have to," she said.
"I did," Typhon replied calmly, as though stating a logistical fact. "You collapsed. Recovery requires fuel."
She accepted the bowl, fingers brushing the edge, warmth seeping into her hands. The smile lingered longer this time.
Typhon returned to the chair, the same one, and sat as if he had never truly left.
Sapphire looked down at the soup, then back at him, something unspoken resting between them.
She didn't understand why his absence had bothered her. He didn't understand why making soup felt… necessary.
Neither of them named it.
But the chair was no longer empty. And somehow, that mattered.
Sapphire lifted the spoon slowly, testing the warmth against her lips. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the simple act anchor her, the dull ache in her head softening just enough to breathe.
Her eyes opened, worry immediately surfacing. "Who's covering my shift?" she asked, voice faint but edged with concern.
Typhon's gaze met hers, steady and unreadable. "Raphael has left," he said calmly. "He will manage the rest."
Sapphire blinked, a hint of relief in her tired eyes. "He… won't mind?"
"He does not," Typhon replied simply. "You need rest. That is your priority."
She exhaled, half-relieved, half-frustrated. "I don't like leaving things half-done," she admitted.
Typhon leaned back slightly in the chair, expression composed. "Then do it well another time," he said quietly. "For now, eat."
Sapphire lifted the spoon once more, this time steadier, letting herself savor the warmth and the quiet presence of the lord who remained nearby.