Raphael Moreau watched in awe as his uncle's imposing presence filled the hospital corridor. The man carried authority like a cloak, his silver-streaked hair and piercing eyes marking him as someone accustomed to power and its burdens.
"This is her room," Raphael said, gesturing toward the door. "Mrs. Moreau is still unconscious, but the doctors say she'll recover."
Uncle Moreau stopped abruptly, his hand hovering inches from the doorknob. His expression shifted, revealing a flash of raw emotion that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"I will wait here," he said, his voice low and controlled.
Raphael blinked in confusion. "But Uncle, don't you want to see her? After all these years?"
The older man's jaw tightened. He moved away from the door to stand by the window overlooking the hospital gardens below.
