The CaregiverI don’t leave his side.They tell me I should—soft voices, careful words—but I shake my head every time. Someone brings me a chair, then a blanket. I don’t notice until hours later when my legs finally stop trembling and the room smells faintly of antiseptic and ozone from overheated machines.Leon lies still on the bed, monitors humming around him like a quiet chorus. His chest rises and falls in shallow, measured breaths. Each one feels borrowed.The Silent King of Shadowline. Reduced to silence for real.I sit close enough to hear him breathe, close enough to see the faint line between his brows even in sleep. He looks younger like this. Less carved from steel. More like a man who has been carrying too much for too long.I roll the bandage between my fingers, hands steadier than I expect them to be. The medic showed me how—gentle pressure, clean wrap, no hesitation. I do exactly as instructed, even though my chest aches with every movement.“This might sting,” I mur

Leon’s WarningEmily’s POVLeon didn’t raise his voice.That was what frightened me most.The penthouse was quiet in the way only expensive places ever were—thick walls, muted lights, the city reduced to a distant glow beyond glass. I stood by the window, pretending to watch traffic bleed through the streets below, while my pulse hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it.He could always hear things others missed.“Emily.”Just my name. Soft. Controlled.I turned slowly. Leon stood near the doorway of his office, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked calm, but I knew the signs now—the stillness, the way his eyes tracked me without blinking, the tension coiled tight beneath his skin like a weapon waiting to be drawn.“You’ve been quiet,” he said.“I’m tired,” I replied too quickly.His gaze sharpened, not angry—assessing. “You’re not tired. You’re hiding.”My throat closed. I forced myself to breathe, to keep my face smooth. “I don’t know what you want me to sa