The emergency room smelled faintly of disinfectant and panic, the fluorescent lights glaring down on everyone inside.
Lia's heart pounded so violently she thought it might burst.
She clutched Leo's small hand as he lay on the stretcher, pale and trembling. His little body shivering under the thin hospital blanket.
"Stay calm, sweetie," she whispered, brushing back his hair. Her voice shook. She had to be strong — for him.
Behind her, Damien's presence filled the room like a shadow that refused to be ignored. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He simply stood there, his tall frame rigid, eyes locked on Leo.
It was the first time he had been this close to him — and the first time he had seen him alive.
The boy stirred slightly, coughing softly. Damien flinched as though the sound had struck him physically.
His gaze softened — just for a fraction — before snapping back into sharp control.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, measuring every movement.
"This is him?" he asked quietly, almost too calm. His voice carried a weight that made Lia shiver.
"Leo," she whispered, "he's sick. That's all you need to know right now."
Damien's eyes didn't leave the boy. He knelt slightly at the edge of the stretcher, maintaining a distance but observing with an intensity that made Lia's skin crawl.
The alpha in him radiated — protective, dominant, impossible to ignore.
"He's… small," Damien said, voice low. "Fragile. He shouldn't be…" His words cut off, replaced by a flash of emotion that almost betrayed the control he always wore like armor.
Lia's throat tightened.
"You have to stay calm," she said, gently moving him back slightly. "Don't scare him."
Damien raised his hands in surrender, but didn't look away. His eyes were locked on Leo's face — the dark, curious eyes, the soft expression, the small features that stirred something in Damien he couldn't name.
For a moment, the room fell silent. Only the soft beeping of monitors and the low hum of the hospital filled the space.
Then Leo reached out with a tiny hand, fingers trembling, toward Damien.
Damien froze.
Time slowed.
The boy's hand hovered, unsure, innocent, reaching for something familiar he didn't understand.
Damien's chest tightened. He wanted to move, to comfort, to take control — but he restrained himself.
He didn't know why.
He didn't know what this feeling was.
Lia's heart raced. She stepped forward instinctively, covering Leo's hand with her own.
"Stop," she whispered softly. "Not yet."
Damien's jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, piercing hers.
"Not yet?" His voice was calm, dangerous. "Lia… when will it ever be enough?"
She swallowed. "When he's safe. That's all that matters. Nothing else."
The alpha in him surged — protective, fierce, impatient. He wanted answers, but he had to wait. For now.
Then a nurse called urgently:
"Doctor! We need assistance here!"
Lia tensed. Damien's eyes shot to hers. They shared a look — equal parts fear, frustration, and something unspoken that neither of them could name.
Damien's hand twitched toward the stretcher, but he didn't touch it.
He wanted to, but she blocked him gently.
And in that moment, the air crackled.
He was observing, analyzing, every small detail about the boy.
Every feature, every movement, every expression.
And Lia knew — he was already connecting dots she had worked so hard to keep hidden.
The boy coughed again.
Damien's gaze hardened.
"Lia," he said, voice low, commanding, dangerous.
"Whatever happens, I need you to be completely honest with me. Do you understand?"
She swallowed, heart pounding.
"I will," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she could.
Damien's eyes never left Leo.
And for the first time in years, Lia realized — he was a storm she couldn't outrun.
The room grew tense, the machines beeped faster, and outside the ER doors, the world continued as if unaware…
But inside, everything had shifted.
And one thought burned in her mind:
Once he sees him properly… nothing will ever be the same.