Damon's POV
"Lucian."
My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care.
The room was small, too warm, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to everything. Marcus lay pale against the hospital bed, the steady beep of the heart monitor filling the silence.
The IV line ran from his arm, clear liquid dripping at a slow, steady pace. But my gut was telling me that whatever was in there wasn't standard.
Lucian's head snapped toward me. His hand froze mid-motion, clutching a thick cream envelope.
Celeste stood beside him, too still, her posture perfect but her eyes—those gave her away. Wide. Guilty.
Behind me, Aria stepped in, her hand instinctively resting over the swell of her belly.
It was impossible not to notice how far along she was now—her entire frame carrying the delicate tension of someone who shouldn't be anywhere near this kind of confrontation. Yet here she was.
"Well," Lucian drawled, recovering too quickly, "look who decided to show up."
