Percival's hand tightened around Lyra's as they stood before the imposing figure in the hallway. The tension in the air was palpable.
"Stay here," he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. His eyes held a protective gleam she hadn't seen before. "This man is... complicated. Let me handle him."
Before Lyra could protest, Percival guided her gently back toward the doorway. "Wait inside, sweetheart. I'll be right back."
The endearment caught her off guard. Percival never used pet names, especially not in front of others. This was clearly for show—or was it?
Lyra nodded, understanding the strategy. She retreated into the hospital room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Through the narrow opening, she observed Percival's transformation as he approached Uncle Moreau. His casual demeanor hardened into something formidable—shoulders squared, chin lifted, eyes narrowed with calculation.
