Tessa’s POV
The hallways we walked through were quiet at first- sterile, polished, and unfamiliar to us since the time we had been here.
1 had memorised so much of Kion’s packhouse by now: the main living area, the guest rooms, the courtyard, the kitchen that Erin and I always ended up snooping around whilst they had been gone… but this part? This stretch of white corridors and silver security doors?
We’d never been down here before. Not even close to it.
Our footsteps echoed sharply as we moved, each one syncing with the rapid beat of my heart.
I couldn’t wait to see her. For her to know that someone still cared after everything she had gone through.
The appointed guard leading us said nothing as we followed behind him, his tall figure dressed in black and military–grade gear. His pace was fast–purposeful- but never impatient, like he knew how important this was and didn’t want to waste a single moment. The tension in his back, the rifle strapped across it, the comms device clipped near his jaw- it all screamed authority.
We passed a long window on the left, but it was frosted over. No way to see inside.
“Where are we?” Erin whispered from beside me, her voice tight, barely above a breath. “This doesn’t even feel like the same building
anymore.”
“I know… I mean, I knew from the outside that this place was huge but this is another level…” I agree shakily, becoming nervous with the
closer we got.
Eventually, the corridor opened up into a wider landing and I saw them- two guards standing still like statues outside a thick, steel doorway. They were bigger than any we’d passed so far (or maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me from my nerves) but their faces were cut off and emotionless, weapons visible at their sides, eyes sharp as they tracked our movement.
Our guide approached them, rattling off a flurry of fast–paced Russian that I couldn’t understand. The words sounded clipped and rehearsed- like a code being exchanged.
The guards glanced at us briefly, then back to him, before nodding. No expression. No words. They turned in perfect unison, stepped
aside, and reached for the double doors.
At least we know now that when Kion said everyone was being heavily guarded for extra protection – he meant it!
They opened them with a creak, allowing us into a space I hadn’t expected at all…
It looked almost like a hospital–white–washed and cold but strangely calm.
A high, open ceiling stretched above us, industrial lights buzzing faintly from their mountings. Doors lined the walls in all directions, marked only by printed numbers. Nurses in white scrubs rushed back and forth, moving with urgency but no panic. Their arms were full of
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Chapter 103
files, medications, folded linens. Some had headsets; some had clipboards.
I saw two doctors in deep conversation near the far corner- one tall, one shorter, both dressed in light blue with penis clipped at their
chests.
In the center of the room was a reception desk, round and slightly raised, like the hub of a wheel. An older woman sat there, her hair
silver and tied tightly back, reading over something through thick–framed glasses.
But what caught my eye most were the guards.
Not just at the entrance- but above us.
There was a second–floor balcony, visible from where we stood, with even more guards pacing its length. They carried rifles strapped
across their bodies, slow and methodical as they walked–eyes trained on everything below them. Their presence was a warning. A
message.
This place wasn’t just a healing center.
It was safe and secure.
Containment.
Recovery.
Kion hadn’t been exaggerating when he said this area was locked down.
Our personal guard stepped aside once we were through, motioning toward the reception desk. Kane gave him a nod of thanks, his eyes narrowing subtly as he took in the entire layout in a single sweep.
He noticed it all- the exits, the weaponry, the tension. I saw it in his posture. His instincts were always at work.
We followed him to the reception desk where the older woman looked up at our approach.
“Kion sent us down,” Kane said, his voice deep but respectful.
The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes, yes,” she replied in a quick accent, her English clear but sparse. “This way,”
She stood with a rustle of her scrubs and stepped out from behind the desk. Her shoes squeaked faintly on the floor as she moved ahead,
her pace fast for her age.
We followed her through another set of double doors–thicker this time, reinforced metal beneath white paint. They groaned slightly as they opened, and we stepped into another corridor, this one quieter, with fewer doors, spaced farther apart.
More private.
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More serious.
The nurse led us all the way to the very last door.
“This one,” she said softly, placing her hand on the handle but not opening it.
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She smiled politely- though her eyes held something else, something weighted- and then without another word, she turned and headed
back the way we came.
We stood there in silence for a long second.
The air felt thinner back here. Like it knew the pain it was holding inside these walls.
Kane’s hand touched my arm gently.
“I don’t know what we’re about to walk into,” he said quietly, glancing between me and Erin. “She’s alive- yes. But that doesn’t mean it
won’t still be a shock. We don’t know what kind of condition she’s in.”
I nodded quickly, feeling Erin do the same beside me.
“I don’t care,” I whispered. “I just need to see her.”
He studied me for another beat, then reached forward and slowly pushed the door open.
The light inside was dim.
Soft, muted.
And the room itself was clean and minimal- like a small apartment suite turned hospital chamber. There was a bed at the center, surrounded by machines and quiet monitors blinking green and blue. A drip bag hung from a stand beside her, the IV line running neatly
down to her arm.
And there she was.
Sasha.
Lying there beneath a thin white sheet, eyes closed, face turned toward the window.
I sucked in a breath- because she looked both better and worse than I’d imagined.
Her skin was pale but exceptionally clean thanks to the nurses.
The bruises and wounds had either been covered in bandages or coated in ointments. But there was not much hiding the battle she had
gone through.
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The machines confirmed she was alive. That she was stable. But her body looked fragile. Thin. Like a single wrong move might crack her.
Erin moved forward first, quiet as a shadow, stepping to the side of her bed.
I followed, Kane’s presence warm behind me.
“Sasha,” I whispered, not expecting her to respond- just wanting to say her name aloud. Wanting her to know someone was here.
She didn’t stir.
But that didn’t matter.
Because we were here.
And she wasn’t alone anymore.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
