"I am coming with you."
"No, you're not," I shot back, pushing myself up only to wince as pain flared sharply across my shoulder blades. "Damn it—"
Marcus was at my side in an instant, steadying me before I could lose my balance.
"You would have been carried home," he muttered, his tone edged with irritation, "your feet never touching the ground." He reached for the wheelchair and pulled it closer to the bed with clear disapproval. "This contraption is beneath a woman of your standing."
"I can walk," I insisted, though my grip on him tightened just enough to betray me.
"Stop being so stubborn, Elena," my mother cut in sharply. "Or I will make you sit in that chair myself."
I exhaled, defeated for now.
Marcus's hand remained firm at my side, far too ready to prove them both right.
Before I could argue any further, Marcus's arm slipped more securely around me.
"Enough," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear it. "You are in no condition to prove anything."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the way he looked at me clamped my mouth shut before any thoughts could form.
His mouth quirked to the side, like this was a battle he already knew he had won.
I rolled my eyes, though there was no real heat behind it.
He moved then, stepping closer with that same careful precision, one hand settling at my waist as he began to guide me forward. His touch was firm, steady. Far gentler than a man like him had any right to be. The wheelchair scraped softly as he pulled it closer with his other hand, positioning it just behind me.
I could feel my mother's gaze burning into my back, sharp and questioning.
I was about to lift myself to sit on it when the door opened.
"Ah—you're leaving so soon?"
Pippa stepped into view, Uncle Alan just behind her. She looked better already, color returning to her face, except for the bandage on her neck.
Her eyes found mine immediately, relief softening her features.
"Elena," she said, moving closer. "You look...alive."
"Barely," I replied, managing a faint smile.
"See?" Marcus chimed in, almost under his breath. "No dishonor in surviving."
I huffed softly, but didn't argue.
Uncle Alan gave a small nod of approval, his gaze briefly flicking to Marcus before turning to my mother behind us. "Mrs.Wright, is it okay if we spoke privately to Elena and Marcus?"
Behind us, I could hear my mother stepping forward, already gathering her handbag.
"Then I'll be waiting in the lobby," she said, her tone gentler now, though still laced with concern. "My husband's going to bring the car around."
Her eyes lingered on me for a moment. Searching, reluctant to leave. Then she took a deep breath. "Don't take too long," she added softly.
I nodded.
"I won't."
She hesitated just a second longer, then turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind her.
"Listen," Pippa said, her voice low but urgent, her eyes flicking between Marcus and I. "Marcus—I'm sorry, but you have to come with us. Now."
Marcus straightened slightly, his expression hardening. "Explain."
"With Garrick under arrest, everything's in motion," she said quickly, her fingers brushing unconsciously against the bandage at her neck. "If there's any chance of sending you back—back to your time—we can't wait. You need to come with us."
Marcus looked like he was about to refuse, I can tell.
But Uncle Alan stepped in before he could.
"Pippa found something," he said, his tone firm, leaving little room for argument. "Something tied to Garrick and to you. If there's a way to send you back..." He held Marcus's gaze. "He's the key."
The air shifted.
"Elena—" Marcus began, turning to me, something conflicted rising in his expression.
I reached out and gripped his arm.
"No."
He stilled instantly.
My chest tightened. I couldn't even meet his gaze, I simply stared ahead, at Pippa, forcing the words out before I could take them back.
"You have to go with them, Marcus," I said quietly. "I'll go with my parents for now."
The words felt heavier than they should have. Like I had just set something in motion that couldn't be undone.
Marcus didn't move.
For a moment, I thought he hadn't heard me.
Then his grip tightened, just slightly on my shoulder, but enough.
"I am not leaving you," he said, his voice low, controlled, but edged with something far less steady beneath. "Not like this. Not when you are wounded."
"I'll be fine," I replied, though the weakness in my body betrayed me almost immediately. "I have my parents, and you heard them. This is about getting you back."
"I did not ask to be sent back," he said.
The words caught me off guard.
"At least," he added, turning back to Uncle Alan and Pippa, watching this unfold with wide eyes, "I have not decided yet."
My breath faltered.
"That's not the point," I said, quieter now. "This is bigger than—whatever this is between us."
He turned back to me, his gaze hardening at my words.
"Whatever this is?" he repeated, the edges of his accent sharpening as he stepped closer, near enough that the air shifted, heavy and familiar. "You placed yourself between me and death, Elena." His voice dropped, steadier now, but no less intense. "Do not diminish it by called it nothing."
My chest tightened.
"I didn't say it was nothing."
"Then do not diminish it."
His voice dropped, quieter now, but far more dangerous.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The world outside the room, all the urgency, the others waiting...everything faded into something distant, irrelevant.
"You have to go," I said again, softer this time. "If there's even a chance this leads somewhere...you need to take it. You don't belong here."
"And you?" he asked.
The question lingered, the one thing I haven't had the courage to answer since that night.
I swallowed.
"I don't know," I admitted, though even I wasn't sure if that was a promise or a lie.
He studied me then, really studied me, as if weighing something far heavier than the situation itself. As if he was deciding to trust my words. Or defy me.
Behind him, Uncle Alan shifted. "Marcus, I'm sorry, but we don't have time."
The moment fractured.
Marcus exhaled slowly, the tension in him coiling tighter before he finally stepped back. Not far, but enough.
"I will help Elena with her parents," Pippa said, moving to my side. Her voice was gentle, but firm when she faced him. "You don't have to worry about her, Marcus. She's in good hands. Go with my father. It's alright."
His jaw tightened, a flicker of something sharp passing through his eyes. From displeasure, to restraint, something unspoken.
I reached for his hand before he could turn away, my fingers wrapping around his, and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze.
"I'll be okay," I said softly.
For a moment, he didn't answer. His gaze dropped briefly to where our hands were joined, as if the contact itself required deliberation, before lifting it back to my face.
"You speak as though I would leave you otherwise," he said, quieter now.
His thumb shifted against my hand. Just once, a brief, grounding press before he released me. "Come," he added, his tone returning to something more composed. "At the very least, allow me to see you properly seated."
I huffed out a small breath despite myself. "It's a wheelchair, not a chariot."
His mouth curved at that, almost.
"A poor substitute," he replied. "But it will serve."
He stepped in again, closer this time, one arm bracing lightly at my back while the other guided my arm over his shoulder. The movement was careful, precise in a way that spoke of control, as though he had already memorized the limits of my body.
"Easy," he murmured, low enough that it was meant only for me.
With his support, he lowered me into the chair, his hand steady at my waist until I was fully settled. Even then, he lingered a second longer than necessary, just enough to make the moment stretch.
When he finally straightened, his hand brushed mine again, fleeting this time.
His gaze held mine for a beat longer.
"Do not attempt anything reckless in my absence," he said.
I raised a brow. "That sounds like a challenge."
"It is not," he returned evenly. Then, after the smallest pause, softer, "It is a command."
Something in my chest tightened.
"I'll behave," I said.
Another almost-smile. Gone as quickly as it came.
He gave a short nod, as though sealing something unspoken between us, then stepped back at last. The distance this time felt real.
And unwelcome.
Without another word, he turned and left.
The air shifted along with his absence. Lighter, perhaps.
Or emptier.