intrepidity

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of silence that wrapped around her like fog—heavy, suffocating, unnatural.

Aurora stirred slowly, as if waking from a deep, dreamless sleep. Her lashes fluttered, damp against her cheeks. Her head throbbed, her limbs felt like lead, and for a moment she wasn't sure where she was. The white ceiling above her swam in and out of focus, lined with harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed lowly, and the distant beeping of machines tapped out a steady, haunting rhythm.

Hospital. The word clicked slowly into place.

She blinked again.

Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. And then, instinctively, she tried to sit up.

Too fast.

A wave of dizziness crashed into her like a punch to the gut. Her breath hitched, and a soft gasp escaped her as the room spun. That's when she felt them—two warm presences flanking her on either side.

"Hey, hey—don't move too fast, baby," Atlas murmured gently, already leaning in, his hands steady on her shoulders.

Antonio was on her other side, tense as ever, his brows drawn tight and jaw clenched with worry. "You fainted," he muttered gruffly, though his voice cracked. "Scared the hell out of us."

She looked at them both, bleary-eyed. The twins—her twins—hovering so close, like they'd been sitting there for hours. Atlas's hands trembled slightly, even if he was trying to stay calm. Antonio looked like he hadn't taken a single breath since she stirred.

But Aurora couldn't focus on them. Her heart had started to pound—hard, uneven, frantic.

Marcus.

Her lips moved before she even realized it.
"M-Marcus..."

Her voice was barely there. A breath. A whisper.

Her fingers clutched at the scratchy hospital blanket like it could anchor her. "Where's Marcus?"

The twins went still.

She could feel their hesitation like a weight pressing down on her chest. That awful pause. That split-second too long.

"I need to see him," she said again, louder this time. Her breath came faster. "P-Please—where is he? I need to see him—"

The door opened.

And then—Aiden.

He stood in the doorway like a shadow, like he had been carved from something ancient and unmoving. His black coat hung heavy on his frame, streaked with rain or blood or maybe both. His hair was unkempt, pushed back with one hand like he'd done it a thousand times that night. He looked like he hadn't slept. Like he hadn't breathed. Like the only thing keeping him upright was pure will.

But the second his eyes landed on her—

Everything softened.

"Sorellina," he said softly, voice low and steady. "You're awake."

She choked on a breath, eyes already brimming with tears. Her mouth moved but no sound came out—just that raw, terrified ache.

Aiden stepped forward immediately.

"He's alright," he murmured, kneeling beside the bed so he could look her in the eye. "He's stable, darling. They've stabilized him."

Her breath hitched. "He is?"