The hospital hallway was white. Blindingly, aggressively white.
It smelled of antiseptic and money.
Bastian walked fast, his wet shoes squeaking on the linoleum. He didn't care. He was still holding Anaïs's hand, pulling her along not as a prisoner, but as a partner.
His grip was tight. He felt like if he let go, she might vanish into the rain again.
"The lab is on the third floor," Bastian said, his voice echoing. "Dr. Morales said she would personally oversee the chain of custody."
They reached the elevators.
Two men in black suits were standing in front of them.
They weren't hospital security. They were St. Yves security. Or rather, Victoria's security.
Bastian stopped. His jaw tightened.
"Move," he growled.
The guards didn't flinch. "I'm sorry, Sir. The floor is restricted. Private family matter."
"I am the family," Bastian snarled. He stepped forward, ready to throw a punch. He was done with diplomacy. He was done with being the polite Emperor.
