The Poison Kiss
Mia and Leon were still embracing, hearts racing, breath entwined, when they finally—grudgingly—separated.
Their gazes clung for an extra beat before Leon looked over at the bed on which Cassidy rested white and still. His throat constricted.
"Mia," he whispered, scanning her face, "you said… should I start the treatment now? Or do you want me to wait?"
Her response was quicker than he anticipated, voice cold, near quivering.
"No," she spat, "don't wait. Begin now. Just… just do it."
There was a flash of relief on Leon's expression. He smiled softly at her, once nodding.
"Alright."
He leaned forward, kissed Mia on the forehead—warm and steady, as if he vowed he would take both her fear and her hope with him—and then he turned to the comatose woman on the bed.
Cassidy.
