The scene shifted.
A faint shaft of morning light slipped through the heavy curtains, falling diagonally onto the cold tiles of the infirmary floor.
The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and a subtle trace of iron, heavy and still.
Inside the ward, two beds stood side by side. Livia lay on the left; Marcellus lay quietly on the right.
His face was pale, a sheen of cold sweat gathering on his brow. The bandages on his chest had been freshly changed, but a faint trace of red still seeped through. The doctors had said his old wounds had only just begun to heal—yet now, due to overexertion and repeated use of painkillers, the injury had torn open again.
Elias sat by Livia's bedside. He hadn't slept the entire night, exhaustion etched into his face—but there was also a quiet composure, tightly held in place. He watched her intently, holding a still-warm cup of water in one hand, as if afraid she might vanish the moment he blinked.
Suddenly, the person in the bed stirred and slowly opened her eyes.
"Livia?" Elias called softly, already leaning forward.
Livia blinked a few times. Her vision gradually came into focus. She sat up slowly, her expression dazed as if she had just clawed her way out of a nightmare. Then—almost instinctively—she looked around.
"Don't be alarmed," Elias said gently, immediately offering her the water. "You're safe now. Drink some."
She took the cup, her hand still faintly trembling. After sipping the warm water, she felt some warmth return to her body. Only then did she notice the weariness on Elias's face—the pale-blue fatigue under his eyes, and a subtle, unspoken worry.
"You stayed up all night?" she asked softly.
Elias nodded, his gaze still resting on her, unmoving. "You were unconscious for six hours. Before that, we turned back… The fact that you made it out—it's a miracle."
Livia paused, then suddenly sensed something strange to her side. She turned her head—and her heart clenched.
Marcellus lay on the bed beside her, eyes closed, his breathing steady but slightly labored. Compared to the man she had seen before—strong, unyielding—he now looked defenseless, almost fragile.
She threw off the thin blanket, about to get up, but Elias pressed a hand to her shoulder, gentle yet firm:
"He's fine. He just hurt himself again."
She turned to him, eyes filled with confusion and shock. Elias, as if knowing what she was about to ask, said softly:
"Who would've thought… that I, the one always called cold-blooded, would be outdone by my own brother?"
Livia froze. Her heartbeat quickened for reasons she couldn't name.
Elias went on, "He pushed himself, took two painkiller injections, and rallied what men he had left—just to come rescue you himself. I thought he'd be okay. But the moment he knew you were safe… he collapsed. Right there on the spot. The doctor said his condition worsened, but we acted fast—it's stabilized now."
Livia listened, her heart feeling heavy, as though something had wedged itself deep inside. She turned back to Marcellus, looked at his sleeping face, her lips quivering slightly as she whispered:
"I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was still too reckless…"
Then she lowered her head and added, barely audible, "I'm sorry."
She knew he couldn't hear it right now. But she had to say it—to ease, if only slightly, the weight in her chest.
There was a pause. Then Elias changed the subject, his tone light, almost teasing:
"But speaking of which, at least you brought back a shard of the 'Holy Grail.' It wasn't all for nothing."
He paused, eyes flicking toward her face, then added casually, "I just didn't expect that the 'forces' your mother left you… would include her. Looks like that kidnapping incident—really wasn't her doing after all."
Livia's expression shifted. She looked up at Elias.
"You recognized her?"
"Mhm." Elias raised a brow. "I was always sure she wouldn't hurt you. But don't worry—I won't reveal who she is. For now… she's one of our strongest potential allies."
Livia exhaled a quiet breath and nodded, her eyes steadier now. "Thank you. She's with us now. And… she can be trusted."
Elias leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, as if letting go of something heavy. "I've met her a few times before. A woman like that—hard to forget. I guess, to reach you in time, she didn't bother with much disguise. I didn't catch it before… but now, it's clear."
"That's good," Livia murmured.
She said nothing more, only slowly turned to look once again at the man sleeping beside her.
Marcellus lay utterly still. His complexion was pale as moonlit snow, his eyelashes damp with sweat and clinging softly to his closed eyelids. He had pushed himself past his limits—for her. She had once refused to acknowledge his feelings, but now… she could no longer look away.
Livia watched him quietly, eyes filled with guilt, remorse, uncertainty… and something else—something she hadn't yet put into words.
The room fell into silence, broken only by the soft rhythm of heartbeats and the faint beeping of machines.
She understood now—she would never again be able to pretend none of this mattered.