intrepidity

Chapter 49

Occasionally, the others filtered in and out, each in their own way leaving behind traces of comfort, like pieces of themselves stitched into the walls.

Roman sat cross-legged on the floor by the bed, reading aloud from one of Aurora's books in that calm, steady voice of his. Every so often, he glanced up to make sure she was still listening. She always was—even if her eyes were on Marcus, her little fingers gently rubbing circles against the back of her brother's hand.

Atlas came in with snacks—fruit slices, cookies, and those soft cheese rolls Aurora liked but always forgot to ask for. He didn't say much either, just placed them beside her with a soft smile and a whisper: "You need to eat, baby." She nodded and promised she would—but he already knew she'd forget, so he returned twenty minutes later with a juice pouch and gently unwrapped one of the cookies, pressing it into her palm until she took a bite just to appease him.

Even Antonio peeked in once. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms folded tightly over his chest like he wasn't sure what to do with them. His gaze landed on Marcus—still asleep but looking less ghostly—and then flicked to Aurora, curled protectively against his side. He didn't say a word, just grunted something under his breath, stepped inside, and quietly folded a blanket. He set it down at the foot of the bed and, before walking out, ruffled Aurora's hair in the clumsiest, gentlest way he could manage.

And then there was Aiden.

He didn't hover. He didn't pace or sigh or wring his hands the way Elias sometimes did when worried. Instead, he lingered just beyond the door, watching. Always watching. Making sure Marcus's chest kept rising. That Aurora's limbs didn't tremble. That the others remembered to eat and breathe and rest. Occasionally, he stepped in to adjust Marcus's IV line, fluff Aurora's pillow when her neck craned uncomfortably, or straighten the corner of a blanket without a word.

It was quiet love. The kind spoken not in affection, but in action.

By the time night fell, Marcus was dozing again, still pale but stronger than he'd been that morning. Aurora sat up just enough to tug the blanket higher over his chest, brushing a careful hand through his hair. Her fingers lingered near the edge of the bruises on his temple, so gentle it barely counted as touch.

Alec returned with an apologetic look, stepping inside softly.

"Honey... you should get some rest now," he said, glancing toward the door.

She blinked up at him and immediately pulled the blanket tighter around Marcus.

"I'll stay," she said, voice too quick.

"Aurora, your bed's ready. I even—"

"No!" Her voice cracked. "What if something happens? What if he—" Her breath caught. "What if I wake up and he's gone again?"

Alec's expression faltered. "Sweetheart, he's okay now, I promise—"

"Don't make me leave him, please," she whispered, eyes wide and glassy. 

Elias tried too. Gently. Calmly. Kneeling down beside her and promising he'd stay close. But when he reached out to coax her away, she only shrank back, small and trembling.

That's when Aiden entered the room.

He didn't say a word as he stepped in. He just looked at her—the tight fists, the red-rimmed eyes, the fear bubbling under her skin. Then he moved quietly to the edge of the bed and sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight.

Marcus stirred at the shift, mumbling something incoherent, but Aurora didn't take her eyes off Aiden.

She looked like the child she was again, barely breathing, like the world was hanging on a thread she didn't trust.