CHAPTER TEN: Against all odds
“She passed out from shock. Some rest, and she’ll be fine,” the local doctor assured Blade as they descended the stairs together.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Blade murmured, walking him to the door.
“When she wakes up, make sure she drinks plenty of water—” The doctor’s words faded into a distant hum as a strange sensation coursed through Blade’s body.
His world tilted. The staircase warped in his vision, and before he could steady himself, his foot missed the last step. He plummeted forward, landing hard with a resounding thud.
The last thing he saw was the doctor rushing toward him before his sight blurred. A relentless hammering pain exploded in his skull, his heart thrummed erratically, and a cold tremor seized his limbs. His breath hitched, shallow and erratic. The world around him spun like a cruel vortex.
The doctor barely managed to drag him toward the living room, settling him onto the couch. But the symptoms only worsened—his body convulsed violently, his temperature plummeted, and blood seeped from the corner of his lips, staining the pillow beneath his head.
A surge of urgency flickered across the doctor’s face. Without hesitation, he tore Blade’s shirt open and reached for his acupuncture needles. With swift precision, he plunged two silver needles into Blade’s wrists. A moment later, thick, congested blood spurted from his chest, splattering onto the floor.
The violent shivering subsided. The convulsions ceased. Yet, the migraine persisted, an unrelenting force drilling into his skull.
The antiseptic tang of medicine hung thick in the air as Milani stepped inside, the grocery bags in her hands momentarily forgotten. Her gaze darted across the room, catching sight of the familiar suitcase on the table.
Something was wrong.
As she approached the stairs, movement from the corner of her eye made her freeze. Her eyes snapped toward the living room. There stood a man—a doctor, by all appearances—his native wrapper loosely tied around his waist.
“Mr. Conir?” she asked, recognition laced with confusion.
The doctor turned, locking eyes with her just as she stepped closer. Then, her gaze dropped to the figure on the couch.
Blade.
His breathing was labored, his skin pallid. Though his eyes were open, he was too weak to move.
“What the hell is going on?” Milani demanded, turning back to Conir.
“His condition is worse than before,” the doctor stated grimly.
Milani’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He doesn’t listen to me.”
The doctor exhaled heavily, crossing his arms. “If you ignore your body when it pleads for rest, it will demand it—whether you like it or not. His injuries were severe and left untreated. Infections took hold. Had I not been here when this attack hit, he might not have survived.”
Blade barely heard the words before his consciousness slipped away entirely.
Conir exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing into fists as he turned on Milani. His voice was cold. “You were only supposed to use a tiny dose of Fedora. He was already injured. What if he had died from the poison?”
Fedora—an herbal toxin the Scarlett Blades used to induce temporary illness and unconsciousness in their targets.
Milani folded her arms. “I only used a little. His old injuries just amplified the effects.”
“You knew his wounds hadn’t healed, and you still poisoned him?”
“I live with a walking weapon. What other precaution was I supposed to take?”
Conir’s nostrils flared. “You weren’t even supposed to administer it directly.”
“I sprinkled a little on the watermelon he ate this morning,” she admitted, shrugging. “Not my fault he devoured the whole thing.”
Conir ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. “You never change.”
Their standoff ended in a tense silence before Milani finally spoke again, her voice quieter. “Will he recover?”
Conir let out a gruff sigh. “He has to. Or I’ll never forgive myself.”
Milani shifted uncomfortably. “How did you even know he was going to collapse? Did he call you?”
“He sent word through my sister, Martha. She happened to be passing by. He needed me to treat Lenora. I was just about to leave when he dropped.”
Milani frowned. “Weren’t you supposed to take Lenora with you?”
“What part of he doesn’t trust me do you not understand?” she deadpanned.
Conir shot her a warning look. “This is your chance. Don’t waste it. And no more Fedora.”
Milani smirked. “Relax. He won’t die. He’s stronger than that.” She patted his back, her confidence unshaken.
As they stepped outside, Conir hesitated before asking, “Did you hear what happened to Phaya?”
Milani’s expression darkened. “I was going to ask you. My sister mentioned something, but she didn’t give details.”
They settled onto a worn garden chair just outside the kitchen, the night air thick with unspoken tension.
“Believe me, it’s a crazy story.” Conir leaned back. “From what I heard, Phaya and one of the Robe Elders were in love. They kept it secret for years—long enough to have a child together.”
Milani nearly choked on air. “Phaya—as in the head of the Scarlett Blades—had a child with a Robe Elder?”
Conir nodded solemnly.
Milani shook her head, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “The Robes and the Scarlett Blades are enemies. And the Robes—misogynistic to the bone—would never allow one of their own to take a Scarlett Blade as a lover, let alone bear a child with her.”
Conir’s lips thinned. “Which is probably why they killed her.”
Milani went still.
“They killed her?”
Conir shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Maybe she took her own life. Maybe they executed her. But one thing’s certain—Phaya is dead.”
Milani swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists.
“Your sister,” Conir continued, “she was closest to Phaya. That’s probably why you got lucky—why you never had to go on a mission.”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes burning with something unreadable. “Is that a question or an accusation?”
Conir lifted his hands in surrender. “Easy, Mama Hen. Just stating facts.”
“Well, your facts aren’t helping.”
She inhaled sharply, trying to collect herself. But something inside her had already cracked.
“You men are all the same,” she muttered. “We give everything—our love, our devotion—and in return, you look down on us. Betray us. Try to kill us. Why do men have to be so animalistic?”
Conir studied her. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Her smile was too tight. “Just speaking for all women.”
He wasn’t convinced.
She exhaled, the tension in her shoulders weighing her down. “Do you know how exhausting it is? Wearing a mask every damn day? Shifting between roles—victim and culprit—just to survive? If Blade would just listen for once, I wouldn’t have to play this damn game.”
Conir hummed thoughtfully. “That does sound exhausting.”
She shot him a glare. “Your fake sympathy isn’t helping.”
Sensing the rising frustration in her tone, he rose to his feet, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ll figure it out.” He glanced at her one last time before turning to leave. “And in case no one told you—you’re doing great.”
Milani huffed as he walked away. “Traitor.”
_____________________________________________✍
The somber sky cast an inspiring gloom over Milani, a fitting backdrop to the restless night that had once again stolen her sleep. Her nightmares had long conditioned her body to awaken at precisely 4:00 a.m., as if bound by an unspoken rule.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, rustling leaves with a force that nearly tore the curtains from their rods. The cold draft urged her to rise, crossing the room to shut the windows before the storm could claim the house.
She moved silently to Lenora’s room, peeking in to find the girl still lost in slumber. With quiet efficiency, she latched the windows to keep the chill at bay before descending the stairs to do the same in the living room. The house, wrapped in darkness, flickered to life under the soft glow of a single lamp. She set water to boil, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with an idle finger—an old habit.
As steam curled from the kettle, her gaze drifted to the couch where Blade lay. For the first time since their paths had crossed, he looked… at peace. His long brown bangs spilled lazily over the pillow, leaving his face fully visible in the dim light.
Instinct guided her movements as she leaned down, pressing her forehead to his to check for fever. He was still warm, but not burning as he had the night before. Satisfied, she reached to pull the blanket over his bare chest, but before she could, his fingers snapped around her wrist like a trap. His eyes flew open, sharp and searching.
Milani froze. Her heart kicked in her chest, but she recovered quickly, rolling her eyes to mask the brief flicker of fear.
“What, did you bolt out of dreamland thinking I’d steal your precious blanket?” She scoffed, yanking her hand free.
Blade groaned in response, his body sluggish as he forced himself upright, knuckles bracing against the couch for support.
Milani left him there, heading to the kitchen to squeeze fresh oranges. His grumbles carried through the house, though they were soon drowned by the thunder that cracked outside. She glanced at the window, relieved that she had locked the shutters in time.
Returning to the living room, she handed him a cup of juice. He barely spared it a glance before his lips curled in distaste.
She sighed. “You’re hopeless.” Without another word, she downed the juice herself, then slammed the empty cup onto the stool beside him.
His gaze darkened, but she met it without flinching.
“Not everyone who approaches you is trying to kill you, Blade,” she said, hands slipping into the pockets of her shorts. “But because you’re a killer, you assume the whole world is out to get you. That’s why your guard is always up.”
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“What did the doctor say after I passed out?”
She hesitated, then scoffed. “Not like it matters. You’ve already decided not to trust me, so why should I bother explaining?”
His expression remained unreadable. “Trust was never part of our agreement. You just said we should pretend to be together.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like crap behind closed doors.”
Blade exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “I mistreated you?”
“Yes. You emotionally abused me.”
His brows furrowed. “Since when is setting boundaries considered emotional abuse?”
Silence fell between them, thick and charged. They stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
“So you want an apology?” he finally asked.
Milani blinked, stunned into speechlessness. He was pressing all the right buttons, deliberately needling her. If slamming his head into the nearest wall were an option, she would have taken it without hesitation.
Instead, she turned on her heel, muttering curses under her breath.
But just as she reached the kitchen, his voice called after her—softer this time, almost hesitant.
“Thank you.”
Milani slowed, then scoffed. “For leaving you the hell alone? Yeah, got it.”
“No,” he said, but then hesitated. A pause stretched between them before he shook his head, exhaling in defeat. “You know what? Never mind.”
She didn’t push. She didn’t care to. If he wanted to bury his gratitude beneath layers of stubborn pride, that was his problem.
Instead, she focused on the one thing that made this entire mission tolerable—Lenora. Despite the chaos with Blade, there was something undeniably grounding about caring for the little girl. It reminded her of family. Of the way her sister had once cared for her. And in that, at least, she found a sense of purpose.
