Later that day...

"Huh? That’s strange." Ashley blinked as she picked up Lucian’s blazer, which he appeared to have left behind in the bedroom.

Lucian was meticulous about these things — organized, like Primo. He was not the type to leave his clothes lying around. If anything, Ashley had been the one learning that habit from him.

Not thinking much of it, she picked it up and headed toward the laundry room. It was Lucian’s turn to put Primo to sleep, after all.

But just as she reached the small laundry room on the first floor, she stopped. Her brows drew together as she noticed something poking out of one of the pockets. She reached in and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Huh?"

The lines on her face deepened as she stared at the stain. "Is this... blood?"

*****

Meanwhile, in Primo’s room, Lucian sat in the chair beside the bed. The boy’s eyes were already closed, his breathing slow and even. Even so, Lucian remained, keeping quiet company with the silence.

When Doctor Wesley first gave him the diagnosis, Lucian hadn’t reacted. He had only asked two questions.

But contrary to what the doctor must have assumed, Lucian hadn’t gone straight back to work.

Instead, he had found himself sitting in his son’s room, in this same spot beside his bed, staring at Primo’s sleeping face without moving.

That night, and tonight, the thoughts were the same.

"Would you be alright," he whispered, knowing full well Primo couldn’t hear him, "without me?"

He shook his head slightly, eyes fixed on the boy.

Primo would not be alright.

Lucian could already picture what would become of him. The greedy factions within Dominion would either attempt to mold the boy into a puppet or eliminate him outright. Either way, Primo would be a target.

But with Ashley in the picture, he was certain she would do whatever it took to protect him.

Lucian drew a slow breath and pressed his lips into a thin line.

She will protect him, he thought. If it’s her... they’ll be alright.

"Six months," he murmured. "I have six months."

What could he accomplish in six months?

Enough to ensure that Ashley had not only the means to survive Dominion without him, but the stability for her and Primo to live in peace?

He rubbed his forehead, mentally reviewing everything he had done and how far along things were. Before Ashley had changed, his focus had been singular — leaving them in a world without loose ends. But somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of the clock.

"The full legalization... the distribution of power..." he trailed off as quiet footsteps reached him from the hallway.

His eyes drifted lazily toward the door. A shadow appeared beneath it. Lucian straightened, exhaled, and reminded himself not to let Doctor Wesley’s prognosis become anyone else’s burden.

He glanced once more at Primo, tucked the blanket in, and pushed himself up from the chair. He eased the door open — and there she was.

Ashley stood in the hallway, looking at him.

"Close the door," she said quietly, stepping aside. "I need to talk to you."

He didn’t ask what about. He simply pulled the door shut behind him.

The moment he did, Ashley reached out and lifted his shirt.

"..." Lucian glanced down at her, watching her study his torso. "Checking whether my abs are still intact?"

She frowned and looked up briefly, but said nothing. "Don’t talk to me yet until you’re in the clear."

She continued her inspection, and when she slipped around behind him and pulled his shirt up to examine his back, Lucian looked over his shoulder.

"What are you looking for?"

"Wounds — fresh ones, cuts, anything like that," she answered without pausing, pressing along his shoulder blades to be thorough.

When she found nothing, she finally smoothed his shirt back down.

"That’s strange," she murmured, watching him turn to face her. "No wounds anywhere. Is it your legs?"

"I wasn’t attacked," he said. "Why would I be?"

Ashley pressed her lips together and, instead of answering, held up the handkerchief she had taken from his blazer.

"I found this. You left your jacket on the bed," she said. "Whose blood is this? There’s quite a lot of it — I thought you’d been shot or hurt somewhere."

Lucian stared at the handkerchief. The same one he had used to wipe the blood from his mouth earlier that day. He was fairly certain he had disposed of it, and yet she said he had left his blazer in the bedroom.

Ashley slowly raised her brows, watching him stare at it a beat too long.

"Lucian?" she said, confused. He didn’t respond. "Lu?"

He blinked and refocused, lifting his gaze to her. "It’s not mine."

"Hmm?"

"The blood," he said.

Her mouth opened as the question already forming: then whose is it?

But she stopped herself.

Should she really ask? Her husband was Lucian De Luca. Things could be perfectly calm one moment and catastrophic the next. Someone could be bleeding out in front of him, and it would barely register as unusual.

So instead of asking, she smiled. "Oh, thank goodness — I thought it was yours! That gave me a mini heart attack." She laughed, folding the handkerchief in her hand. "I’ll just throw this out. Go to bed without me. Be there in a bit!"

With that, she turned and headed off to dispose of it.

Lucian watched her go. When she disappeared from view, he leaned back against the door.

He pressed a hand to his chest and exhaled. Though it offered no real relief, knowing he had just lied to her.

"Not now," he whispered, then immediately brought the back of his hand to his lips as a cough surfaced.

He checked his hand, then moved quickly to their bedroom to wash away the faint smear of blood on his skin.

He scrubbed his hands over the sink, then gargled to clear the bitter taste from his mouth.

When he finished, he rested both hands on the edge of the sink and looked up at his own reflection.

"Not now," he told himself. His eyes were steady, but their corners had gone red. "Not yet."

Doctor Wesley had said six months.

Lucian wanted to believe he had that long. But he understood, beneath the surface of that hope, what the doctor had actually meant.

Six months would already be a miracle. And between now and then, his body would keep deteriorating — quietly, steadily, without pause.

His reflection stared back at him like something he didn’t recognize.

"Get it together," he said under his breath, as though issuing a warning. "It’s all in your head."

He could not fall apart yet. Not with formidable enemies still lurking in the shadows.

And not when Primo and Ashley were expecting him at tomorrow’s school festival.