One of the doctors called out from the bedside.
"His fever has reached 40.5°C. He's dehydrated and suffering from post-traumatic stress. He's entering a dangerous zone, especially given his age. We need to sedate him now before his nervous system crashes."
Silver inhaled sharply. Her knees buckled slightly, and she gripped the bed railing. But she didn't cry. Not this time. Her heart had turned to stone.
Lorenzo turned to the doctor. "Do whatever you have to. Bring in anyone from Rome, Paris, even Singapore if it helps."
"Understood," the doctor replied.
Silver still didn't look at him.
Instead, she turned to the foot of the bed and crossed her arms.
"You want to know what I want?" she said, her voice cold and clipped. "After Louis recovers—and he will, because he has to—I want to go back. Back to Alaska. Back to my company. My life."
Lorenzo's brows furrowed. "You mean leave?"
