"This first sequence was successful," Dr. Patel said quietly, closing the chart with a soft snap that sounded too loud in the hushed room. He looked up at Kieran and Genesis, who stood side by side at the foot of Donald’s bed. "Vitals are stable. Pain managed. No imdiate complications."
The private treatnt room, once a suite, now a fortress of blinking monitors, IV poles, and softly humming machines felt smaller than it had a week ago. Or maybe that was just the weight of everything that had happened since.
Donald lay propped against crisp white pillows, skin still pale but no longer translucent. The sharp edges of his cheekbones had softened slightly; color had crept back into his lips. He looked... tired, but alive. More alive than he had in weeks.
Genesis’s hand tightened in Kieran’s. She hadn’t let go since they’d entered the room.
Donald’s gray eyes, still piercing even through exhaustion, flicked between them. A faint, familiar smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"Don’t look so grim, you two," he rasped, voice rough from disuse but laced with that old dry humor. "I’m not dead yet. Though if you keep hovering like I’m a museum exhibit, I might ask the doc to finish the job out of sheer embarrassnt."
Kieran’s jaw flexed, but the corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile he’d allowed himself since coming into the room.
Genesis managed a watery laugh, stepping closer to take Donald’s hand. His fingers were cool but steady as they curled around hers.
"You scared us," she whispered. "When the pain hit last ti..."
Donald squeezed gently. "Sweetheart, I’ve been scaring people since before you were born. It’s practically my love language." His gaze shifted to Kieran. "Besides, your husband would’ve stord heaven itself if I’d checked out early. I figured I’d spare the angels the bloodshed."
Kieran exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. "You’re damn right I would have."
Dr. Patel cleared his throat softly. "We’ll continue the alternating sequences—Angel to bolster immunity, Devil to attack the cancer. The goal is balance. Mr. Blackwood’s body is responding better than projected. He’s strong."
Donald snorted weakly. "Strong? I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck driven by the devil himself. Fitting, I suppose."
Genesis brushed a stray lock of silver hair from his forehead, her touch feather-light. "You’re doing so well, Dad. Really."
He studied her face for a long mont, eyes softening. "You look tired, little one. More than , even."
She tried to smile, but it wobbled. A week of nightmares, Alia’s attempted murder, the premature baby fighting in the next room, the constant shadow of Bishop’s threats—had left dark circles under her eyes that no amount of smile could hide.
Kieran’s arm slid around her waist, anchoring her to his side. She leaned into him without thinking.
"I’m okay," she lied quietly.
Donald’s gaze flicked between them again, sharp as ever. "Liar," he said fondly. "But I’ll let it slide. For now."
Dr. Patel stepped forward with a small tray. "Ti for the next Angel dose. We’ll keep it slow."
As the nurse adjusted the IV line and the pale blue fluid began its steady drip, Genesis felt Kieran’s thumb trace slow circles against her hip, small, grounding, also anchoring himself to her.
Donald’s eyes drifted closed for a mont as the dication took hold, but his grip on her hand stayed firm.
"Tell sothing good," he murmured, voice already drowsy. "Sothing... normal."
Genesis swallowed the lump in her throat.
"The baby kicked this morning," she said softly. "Hard. Right under my ribs. Like he or she was saying hello to Grandpa."
Donald’s eyes opened, sparkling with sudden light.
"Well then," he whispered, a real smile breaking through the fatigue. "That’s worth sticking around for."
Kieran’s arm tightened around her, his lips brushing her temple.
Outside the window, dawn was just beginning to bleed gold across the sky.
Inside, for the first ti in a week, the room felt almost peaceful.
But in the shadows of the estate grounds, security feeds flickered.
And sowhere across the city, a carefully wrapped package sat waiting for delivery.
The war hadn’t paused.
It had only changed battlefields.
****
"So what do you want to eat?" Kieran asked as they stepped out of Donald’s room to let him rest, heading toward the living room. Daisy’s ears perked up the mont she heard the word food.
"I’m hungry too, Uncle Kier!" she chirped, racing over with her little rabbit doll clutched tight against her side.
Just as the grand double doors swung open, Richard the butler stepped in and approached Kieran with asured steps.
"What would my two favorite girls in the world like to eat?" Kieran began, grinning down at Daisy until Richard stopped a few feet away.
"Young master, there is a package outside the gate," Richard said quietly.
Kieran’s smile vanished in an instant. "A package?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was the courier identified?"
"Security reports it was a standard courier service. No sender listed," Richard replied.
Kieran nodded once, sharp. His gaze flicked to Cady and Mia lingering near the doorway.
"Go inspect it," he ordered. "Do not bring it inside."
They nodded without a word and moved out, Richard following close behind.
Genesis frowned, turning to Kieran. "I... is sothing wrong?"
He looked at her, and just like that, the easy smile slid back into place—warm, reassuring. "Nothing’s wrong, love. Probably a wrong delivery. I didn’t order anything, and I know you didn’t."
Genesis nodded slowly, but her eyes drifted to the door the Angels had disappeared through. A faint unease settled in her stomach.
Kieran caught her chin gently, tilting her face back to his. "It’s fine," he murmured, thumb brushing her lower lip. "Co on. Let feed my girls."
Daisy giggled. Genesis couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension easing under his touch. "Feed us? Okay, lead the way, Chef Kieran."
He winked, scooping Daisy up with one arm and offering Genesis the other. For a mont, everything felt light again.
Outside the gates
Cady and Mia circled the plain brown box like it might bite. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the tal gates behind them, but the package sat in shadow—innocuous, and wrong.
Cady glanced at Mia. "Think it’s dangerous?"
Mia shrugged, but her hand was already on the dagger at her lower back. "Only one way to find out."
She knelt, slicing the tape with a quick flick of her blade. The carton flaps fell open.
The stench hit first—thick, unmistakable.
Death.
They exchanged a grim look.
Mia peeled the flaps wider.
Inside, nestled in plastic and ice packs gone warm, lay a severed human body part.
Amanda.
"Fuck," Mia breathed.
A split second later, gunshots cracked the air, sharp and close.
Mia spun, scanning the treeline. "Cady..."
The word died in her throat.
Cady’s eyes went wide, a red bloom spreading across her chest. She staggered, mouth opening in silent shock, then crumpled toward the ground.
"Nooo!" Mia scread, lunging to catch her before she hit the gravel.
Chaos erupted, shouts from the gatehouse, boots pounding, more shots ringing out as security rushed the scene.
Mia cradled Cady close, pressing desperate hands to the wound, blood soaking through her fingers.
"Hang on, hang on, damn it, help’s coming!"
But Cady’s eyes were already glazing, breath coming in wet, shallow gasps.
The package and its grueso ssage sat forgotten in the dirt.
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