Chapter 6 - THE MIDNIGHT WATCH
When Adrien returned to the guest suite, the room was quiet. The harsh overhead lights had been turned off, replaced by a soft, amber reading lamp near the armchair. Nurse Henderson, a crisp, middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an efficient demeanor, was adjusting the flow rate of Clara’s IV drip.
On the plush velvet sofa near the foot of the massive bed, Lily was curled up in a blanket that was far too big for her. Her thumb was tucked securely in her mouth, and her battered teddy bear was clutched tightly against her chest. She had fallen asleep mid-sentence while trying to explain to the nurse about her teddy bear's missing ear.
Adrien walked in silently, his footsteps absorbed by the thick Persian rug.
"How is she?" Adrien asked in a whisper, nodding toward the bed where Clara lay.
"Her fever has broken slightly, Mr. Romano," Nurse Henderson reported, keeping her voice low. "The antibiotics are doing their job, but she's still very weak. She'll need complete bed rest for at least a week, followed by light duty for another month. No heavy lifting, no exposure to damp environments."
"She won't be doing any cleaning," Adrien stated flatly. "Move her and the child to the main family quarters on the second floor once she's stable. Give them the east suite."
Nurse Henderson blinked in surprise, her professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "The east suite, sir? That's... that's where family stays."
"I am aware of where family stays," Adrien replied, his tone final. "See to it."
Without waiting for a response, Adrien walked over to the sofa where Lily was sleeping. He looked down at the tiny girl. Without the smudge of black polish on her cheek, she looked remarkably peaceful, her chest rising and falling in steady, shallow rhythms.
Slowly, awkwardly, Adrien knelt down beside the sofa. He reached out and gently pulled the heavy wool blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it in around her chin. As he did, Lily stirred, letting out a soft, sleepy sigh. Her small hand reached out blindly in the dark, her fingers brushing against the cuff of Adrien's expensive suit jacket.
She didn't wake up, but her small fingers curled into the fabric, gripping it as if she had finally found something solid and safe in a world that had been terrifyingly cold and uncertain.
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Adrien froze. Every instinct he had honed over a decade in the underworld—instincts that told him to pull away, to maintain distance, to never show a point of attachment that could be used as a weapon against him—screamed at him to unhook her fingers and step back.
Instead, he stayed kneeling on the floor, his large hand resting protectively over hers. He didn't move for an hour.
