The room still pulsed with the echo of shock. The doctors whispered in corners, their eyes darting toward Ryan as though he had rewritten the laws of medicine before their very faces. Some muttered about anomalies, others about impossible recoveries, their voices a mix of awe and irritation. To them, Ryan was an interloper who had made years of study and practice look like clumsy fumbling.
"Out," Greaves said suddenly, his voice stronger than it had sounded in months. The old man's command cracked through the air like a whip. "All of you. Leave me."
They hesitated only for a breath before bowing to his authority and filing toward the door. The sound of their shoes against polished marble faded, and for a moment the only sound left was the faint ticking of a clock on the wall.
Greaves's eyes softened as they landed on his granddaughter. "Thelma, dear. Give me a moment alone with Mr Ardyn."
Ryan caught the flicker of hurt in Thelma's expression--the brief widening of her eyes. She masked it quickly with grace, inclining her head. But as she turned to leave, Ryan's gaze betrayed him, lingering a moment too long on the confident line of her stride, the quiet strength that clung to her even in retreat. She was a fine woman, sharp-willed and luminous. The tailored suit she wore traced her curves with a subtle elegance, and Ryan, against his better judgement, let the thought flicker, then pushed it down.
When the door closed, Greaves exhaled. "Thank you," he said, his voice gentle, though edged with a gravity that spoke of years burdened with responsibility. "What you've done for me tonight… I cannot put words to it."
Ryan shook his head slightly. "It wasn't an ordinary sickness. Something foreign was inside you--something foul. I could feel it. It wasn't natural."
A shadow passed over Greaves's features, the vigour of moments ago tempered by unease. "I feared as much. I have enemies, Mr. Ardyn. More than I care to count. In my position, such things come with the territory. But this…" He paused, fingers twitching against the sheet. "This was different. It could have been anyone who tried to sabotage me."
Ryan studied him quietly, then words escaped him before he'd fully chosen them. "How well did you know my father?"
Greaves's gaze sharpened. For a moment, silence lay between them like a drawn curtain. Then the old man gave a slow nod. "Your father… He was… more than most men could ever hope to be. Being what he was, he bore that mantle with humility. He was the shield that guarded the world of men."
Ryan's throat tightened.
Greaves continued. "I was at the height of my power then--head of my empire, but foolish enough to think I could stand untouchable. They came to me. Offered me a bargain. Wealth, longevity, influence beyond measure, if only I would trade my soul. I refused." He gave a small, grim smile. "I had my flaws, but I was not so blind. Your father… he stood between me and the darkness that followed. He protected me, though it cost him dearly."
His gaze flickered, grief stirring in its depths. "It was a shame, Ryan. A tragedy beyond reckoning, the way he and your mother died. The world lost two extraordinary souls the day they were taken."
For the first time in years, Ryan didn't feel the sharp stab of emptiness when his parents were named. He felt the weight of a legacy pressing down instead.
Greaves's eyes shifted, their sharpness fading into something more fragile. "Me Ardyn… Ryan. I love my granddaughter very much. Thelma is brave, stubborn as the sunrise, and reckless in her convictions. She reminds me so much of her grandmother it frightens me. I fear for her. She may smile, she may stand tall, but the world is crueller than she knows. And darker forces move now, closer than either of us would like to admit."
He leaned forward, clutching Ryan's arm with surprising strength. "Please I ask that you promise me that whatever storms come, you'll protect her."
Ryan held his gaze. For reasons he wasn't fully sure of, he inclined his head. "You have my word."
But before Greaves could speak again, the muffled calm outside the door fractured.
"I demand to see my father at once!" A man's voice thundered, vibrating through the corridor.
Ryan straightened in his chair, his senses sharpening instantly. He could hear Thelma's voice beyond the door, edged with frustration but still measured.
"You can't now. He doesn't wish to be disturbed."
Another voice cut in, shrill and biting--the voice of a woman. "How dare you stop us from seeing our father, you little ingrate!"
"Mrs Reed," Thelma's voice snapped, firmer this time. "I'm not stopping you. I am asking you to wait. Have some patience."
"Patience?" the man roared again. "Our father is sick, wasting away, and you--his spoiled little pet--dare to bar us?"
A scuffle of voices and shuffling feet followed. The air thickened with hostility, each word sharper than the last.
Greaves's lips thinned into a grim line. "My children," he muttered.
Ryan was already rising when the door crashed inward, slamming against the wall with a thunderclap of wood on plaster.
A man and woman stormed in, Thelma caught behind them, her cheeks flushed with restrained fury. The man, broad-shouldered and red-faced, froze mid-step. The woman, elegant but hard-eyed, gasped audibly.
For in the bed where they'd expected to see a frail, dying father was now Greaves, upright, with colour in his cheeks, strength in his frame. And standing beside him, Ryan.
"What… what is this?" the man stammered, his voice stripped of confidence. "What the hell is going on here?"
The woman's eyes darted between Greaves and Ryan, sharp with both disbelief and calculation. Thelma, breathless from the confrontation, stood at their heels, her eyes flicking toward Ryan.