She heard Leo's voice in the distance, shouting orders and demanding answers. His voice was sharp and cold, the voice of a man who was used to being obeyed. She heard footsteps, the murmur of guards talking, and the crackle of radios. She heard the private doctor packing his bag, the click of the latches, and the soft shuffle of his shoes on the floor.
She opened her eyes.
Leo was walking toward her. His face was hard, his jaw tight, and his gray eyes dark with fury. His suit was rumpled, his tie loosened, and his hair slightly disheveled. He looked like he had run here. He probably had. She could see the sweat on his forehead, the strain in his shoulders, and the way his chest rose and fell like he had been holding his breath for miles.
But when he saw her sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her face wet with tears, his expression softened. The fury did not disappear, but it moved to the background, replaced by a gentler expression.
