🦋Author’s POV🦋

The words had struck her like a lightning bolt. For a moment, Aranya’s body forgot how to breathe.

“Gone?” The word echoed in her mind over and over, refusing to settle, refusing to become reality. Her knees buckled, and the sterile white of the hospital blurred into a dizzying whirl. She clutched her dupatta against her chest, gasping as if the cloth could keep her breaking heart from spilling out.

Her grandfather.

Her only safe place in this cruel world. The man who had cooked meals with his own hands because she couldn’t eat from anyone else. The one who gave her pocket money when her father refused. The one who fought for her when everyone else turned their backs.

Her shelter. Her hope.

Gone.

The weight pressed down so hard on her chest she thought she might collapse right there. Tears burned her eyes until they spilled down, streaming endlessly, blurring her vision. She shook her head, trembling, voice breaking into pieces.

“No… no, this can’t be true,” she whispered, almost begging. “Not him… not Grandpa…”

But no one contradicted it. No one stepped forward to tell her it was a mistake.

Her father sat broken, head hung low. For the first time, the iron man she had always known looked small—helpless. Vikram remained on the bench, stiff and silent, as if reality had drained the blood from his face. And Kavya Maa’s fake sobs pierced the air, louder and louder, like a dagger twisting into Aranya’s grief.

She staggered forward, falling on her knees in front of Aarav. Her hands clutched his tightly, desperate, her tears soaking the back of his palm. “Bhai… is it true? Tell me… please, tell me…”

Aarav’s eyes, usually so calm and warm, were darkened with something else this time. Disappointment. Anger. A storm she had never seen in him before.

“Where were you, Aru?” he asked, voice low but piercing. “I informed you in the morning. He kept asking for you… till his last breath.”

Her heart shattered further. His words pierced deeper than any blade.

“Tell me,” Aarav continued, his jaw tight, “what was so important that you couldn’t come? Or is it true, like everyone says… that you’re so busy with your new life, you’ve already forgotten him?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Shock numbed her tongue. She wanted to scream the truth—that she had begged, that she had pleaded, that she had been locked in a gilded cage. But the words stuck like poison in her throat.

“Bhai…” her voice trembled, breaking into stutters, “wo… I…”
She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes, ashamed. “I… I was not well.”

It was a lie. And she hated herself for it. But the truth felt impossible to speak.

Aarav studied her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes cut her open. Like he was trying to read every unspoken word, every hidden tear.

And behind them all, in the shadows, Veer’s brows furrowed. Her lie confused him. Why would she lie? She could have easily blamed him—he was the reason she hadn’t come earlier. He had made her wait, dragged her through silence and mockery. But she didn’t. She shielded him.

A strange heaviness twisted in his chest, the faintest sting of guilt.
But before he could dwell, Kavya Maa’s voice filled the space like venom.

“Not well, it seems.” Kavya let out a bitter laugh, loud enough for everyone to hear. She pointed at Aranya, her eyes flashing with hatred. “Just look at her. Does she look unwell to you? No. She looks well-fed, well-dressed, glowing even.”

Her words were poison, each one stabbing deeper.

“Look at how she’s enjoying her marriage life,” Kavya spat, her voice rising. “We gave her this life even though it wasn’t hers. We gave her a husband, a home, everything… and see how ungrateful she is. She couldn’t even show up for her grandfather, the one who loved her most. Not even a day has passed since her marriage, and she’s already left us. Already forgotten us.”

Each word was another nail hammered into Aranya’s breaking heart. She clenched her dupatta tighter, her throat closing. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her lips stayed shut. She couldn’t fight back. Not when her soul was already bleeding.

Aarav’s hand curled into a fist, his jaw locking, but before he could respond, the nurse arrived and called him and Vikram for procedures. With heavy steps, they left, leaving Aranya alone with the venom that was Kavya Maa.

The moment the hallway emptied, Kavya’s crocodile tears vanished. Her face twisted, eyes narrowing like a snake ready to strike. She stepped closer, her voice lowering into a hiss.

“You think after marrying, you’ll live peacefully?” Kavya sneered. “After destroying two lives?”

Aranya blinked, her brows knitting in confusion.

“What do you mean?” she asked softly, her voice shaking.

Kavya laughed coldly, stepping closer until her perfume stung Aranya’s nose. “You don’t know?” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “Do you know how your grandpa landed in the hospital? Because of you.”

Aranya froze.

Kavya leaned in, her voice venomous. “He was thinking of you when it happened. He asked for you again and again. His heart couldn’t take the disappointment. Maybe if you had come earlier, we could’ve saved him. Maybe if you hadn’t been so selfish, he would still be alive.”

Aranya’s breath hitched, tears pooling faster. “No… no, that’s not true—”

“Oh, but it is,” Kavya cut her off sharply. Her eyes glistened with fake pity. “He was heartbroken. Thinking about how easily you replaced Shanaya… how his beloved granddaughter’s wedding was stolen by his unwanted one. Do you know what shame you’ve brought him? His heart couldn’t bear it.”

Her knees went weak. She shook her head, whispering, “Stop… please stop…”

But Kavya didn’t.

“You were the reason your mother died,” she hissed, her voice like acid. “And now, your grandfather too. Do you see the pattern, Aranya? Wherever you go… people die.”

The world spun. Her chest caved in with suffocating grief. She gasped for air, but every word Kavya spoke was like a hand pressing harder against her throat.

And then, Kavya’s actual hand wrapped around her neck.

Aranya choked, eyes widening as Kavya’s nails dug into her skin.
“How dare you stand in front of me after stealing Shanaya’s place!” Kavya spat, her face twisted with rage. “You should have refused! When Vikram blackmailed you, you should have said no! You should have died instead!”

Her grip tightened, Aranya’s breath hitching, her face turning red. Tears spilled as her chest burned for air.

Kavya’s nails dug deeper into Aranya’s skin, her voice dripping poison.

“If you had died, everyone would be happy,” she spat, her grip tightening. “Your grandpa would still be alive. My Shanaya’s marriage would’ve happened. You ruined everything, Aranya!”

Aranya gasped, her chest burning for air, her vision blurring. Her hands clawed weakly at Kavya’s wrists, but her strength was no match. The world tilted, colors fading at the edges of her sight.
And then—suddenly—the iron grip on her throat loosened.

A strong hand had caught Kavya’s wrist, twisting it away from Aranya’s neck with a force that made her stumble back. Aranya collapsed onto her knees, coughing, dragging in desperate breaths as the blood rushed back to her lungs.

Kavya whipped around, fury blazing in her eyes. “How dare you—” she started, but the words froze mid-air.

Because the one holding her hand wasn’t Vikram.

It wasn’t Aarav.

It was Veer.

His face was carved from stone, his jaw locked, his eyes dark and unreadable. He stood tall, his grip on Kavya’s wrist firm, almost crushing, his entire presence radiating authority that made the air itself heavy.

Kavya’s lips parted in shock, the anger draining from her face. Her voice faltered. “V… Veer…”

And Aranya, still gasping for breath, lifted her tear-soaked eyes — only to find Veer standing there, not as a distant stranger, not as the man who mocked her, but as the one who, for the first time, had pulled her away from the very hands trying to break her.

Just then, the ICU doors creaked open again. Aarav and Vikram returned after completing the hospital procedures, their faces drawn and heavy with exhaustion. But the sight that greeted them froze both men in their tracks.

Aranya was crouched on the floor, her dupatta twisted in one hand, the other pressed shakily against her chest as she struggled to breathe. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, and her delicate neck bore red finger-shaped marks. Kavya stood a few feet away, shock etched across her face, while Veer towered over her, his bloodshot eyes locked on her like a predator eyeing prey.

The atmosphere was suffocating. A silence so tense it could slice through steel.

“Aranya!” Aarav’s voice cracked as he rushed to her side. His hands trembled when he gently touched her shoulder, trying to steady her. His eyes widened in horror at the angry red fingerprints seared into her skin. “Who… who did this to you?”

His voice turned sharp, laced with rage he had rarely shown before. He tried to help her stand, his arm protectively sliding around her, but Aranya was too shaken, gasping and clutching at her chest.

Vikram, completely bewildered, turned towards Veer. “Veer… beta… when did you come? You brought Aranya?” His voice was laced with confusion and hope, but Veer didn’t spare him a glance.

His eyes never wavered from Kavya.

Aranya’s tears spilled harder under everyone’s gaze. Before Aarav could question her again, she abruptly pushed herself up, stumbling back. Her throat still burned from the choking, her breaths ragged and shallow. She couldn’t hold it together anymore. Without a word, she turned and bolted out of the corridor, sobbing, her figure disappearing down the sterile hallway.

“Aranya—!” Aarav called, but Veer’s low, mocking voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Mr. Rathore,” Veer’s lips curved into a cruel smirk, his voice dripping venom. “I didn’t know Mrs. Rathore was this dangerous… that she could even try to kill the ones around her.”

His words were mocking, sharp, and every syllable made Kavya’s face drain of color.

“Kavya! What have you done?” Vikram demanded, his tone uncharacteristically firm. His eyes were wide with disbelief.

Kavya stammered, tears flooding her eyes as she folded her hands dramatically. “Woh… Vikram ji… y-you don’t understand. That girl—Aranya—she… she tried to attack me! I only defended myself! To protect me…” her words shattered with fake sobs.

“Attack you?”

The low chuckle that escaped Veer’s throat was enough to send a shiver down everyone’s spine. He tilted his head, his gaze never leaving Kavya, his smile cold.

“Mr. Rathore…” Veer’s voice dripped sarcasm, his eyes flickering toward Vikram for a brief second before pinning back on Kavya. “Why didn’t you make your wife an actress? If she stepped into films, she would’ve won an Oscar by now.”

His mocking tone sliced through Kavya’s fake act like glass shattering on marble. Her fake sobs faltered, and shame crawled up her face.

Veer’s steps echoed loudly in the quiet corridor as he closed the distance between them. Each step carried the deadly aura of a mafia king who was used to breaking people without lifting a finger. His bloodshot eyes burned into Kavya, his expression unreadable but terrifying.

When he finally stood before her, his voice dropped to a deadly whisper — calm, cold, yet more dangerous than a scream.

“If you ever…” his jaw clenched, his words coming out like thunder held in restraint, “…dare to touch my wife again, or even think of hurting her, then remember this—there won’t be a single piece of you left to bury. Not even enough for a funeral.”

His words weren’t a warning. They were a promise.

Kavya froze, her entire body trembling. The weight of his aura pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her lips quivered, but no sound came out. For the first time, she felt genuine fear crawl through her veins.

Without sparing another glance, Veer turned sharply and walked away, his expensive shoes clicking against the hospital tiles, his presence commanding every eye in the corridor.

Aarav, his expression dark with anger, shot one last glare at Kavya before following Veer. Even Vikram, caught between confusion and disbelief, could no longer look his wife in the eye.

And for once, Kavya — the woman who thought she ruled over everyone — was left standing utterly shaken, Veer’s deadly words echoing in her mind like a curse.

🦋Author’s POV🦋

It had been ten minutes. Ten whole minutes since Aranya had run out of the hospital like a wounded bird desperate to escape its cage.

Ten minutes since Veer’s eyes had been burning with guilt and anger and something else he couldn’t name. Ten minutes since Aarav’s world tilted at seeing his sister like that.

They had split up without speaking — Aarav heading towards the right wing, Veer moving towards the parking area, both calling her name, their voices swallowed by the hospital’s sterile corridors. But there was no sign of her.

The rain had started to fall outside, soft at first, then heavier. A cold, gray drizzle that clung to the skin and blurred the lights of the hospital parking lot.

And then Veer saw her.

She was walking across the deserted road outside, her steps uneven, her posture trembling. The rain soaked through her clothes, plastering her hair to her face, but she didn’t even seem to notice. She wasn’t really there — her body was moving, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.

For the first time, Veer felt something twist inside him. Something foreign. His pace slowed as he followed her silently. Each step he took matched hers until he moved ahead of her, blocking her path.

“Aranya…”

The name left his lips before he even realized. It was soft. Almost tender. And it shocked him as much as it might have shocked her. He had never said her name like that before. Never with that edge of concern.

Aranya’s head snapped up at the sound. Her eyes were blank at first, as though she were still in a haze. But then she saw him — and the haze cracked.

Her eyes widened, her lips quivered, her whole body tensed. And before Veer could even take a breath, her palm connected with his cheek in a sharp, resounding slap.

The sound cut through the rain.

Veer froze. His head tilted slightly from the impact, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His cheek burned, but not as much as the guilt rising in his chest.

It wasn’t anger he felt. It wasn’t shock. It was… recognition. He deserved that. Every bit of it.

Aarav, who had just turned the corner in time to witness it, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes flickered between his sister — soaked, trembling, eyes wild with grief — and Veer, the man everyone feared, standing frozen, accepting a slap without a single word.

Aranya’s voice cracked, sharp and raw. “You know…” she began, her words tremoring, “…my grandpa wanted to see me for the last time. But he couldn’t.”

Her bitter laugh rang hollow against the patter of the rain. She looked at Veer but wasn’t really looking at him; she was staring through him, as though he were a window to all the pain she had bottled up.

“Why? Because his granddaughter got married… and got busy… and enjoyed her married life.” Her laugh cracked again. “Enjoying her married life, it seems…” Her fingers reached up to her wet hairline, trembling as they brushed against her sindoor. “They don’t know what I actually got on my wedding night.”

She took a step forward, her eyes boring into Veer’s. “Do you know? On my wedding night, I stood outside. In the rain. The whole night. As punishment.”

Veer’s jaw clenched. He remembered that night. He remembered the fury he’d felt — at her, at the world, at himself — and yet he’d still left her there.

“They don’t know the gift I got from my husband for my first rasoi was to climb thirty-two floors just to see him in his office.” Her voice rose with each word, like a tide coming in. “They don’t know that to see my grandpa, I had to agree to your conditions, sign your papers, obey your rules.”

Her trembling hands clutched the mangalsutra at her throat. “They don’t know the one who put sindoor in my hair partition, the one who tied this mangalsutra, the one who walked around the sacred fire — my husband — doesn’t even consider me his wife.”

The rain fell harder now, mixing with the tears streaming down her face.

“They don’t know,” she choked out, “that when I begged to see my grandpa, my husband kept me waiting. As if he was so busy.” Her eyes darted upward to meet his. “Why? Why? Because I was his mistaken bride? The replacement? Because he thinks I betrayed him? Because my stepmother told him so?”

Her sob turned ragged, her body shaking. “My grandpa… died of a heart attack. Died because of shame. Because of me. All of this happened because of me. I didn’t want to get married. I was forced. I was blackmailed. But no one ever cared. No one gave me a choice.”

She dropped to her knees in the rain, her hands clutching her face. “You called me a pampered princess, remember?” Her voice cracked on the words. “But I was an abandoned daughter.

Everyone thought I was cursed. I never received love. I was the shame of the family. I grew up scared to eat, scared to exist. They blamed me for my mother’s death, and now they blame me for my grandpa’s. And you—” her gaze snapped up to him again “—you believed them.”

Veer’s fists clenched at his sides. His throat burned with words he didn’t know how to say.

Aranya’s voice softened for a moment, her eyes distant. “Do you know, the person who saved me when no one else would — the one I cared for more than anyone — was the one who died. He gave me shelter. He was everything. And he’s gone.” Her shoulders shook as a sob ripped from her chest. “He’s gone.”

Aarav stood rooted to the spot, his hands trembling at his sides. On the surface, his face was unreadable. But inside, something cracked. His little sister, whom he had left in someone else’s care, was breaking in front of him. And he had done nothing.

Veer’s vision blurred. Guilt crashed over him like the rain pounding the pavement. He had known she was innocent, deep down. Known it but chosen to punish her anyway because it was easier than facing his own mistakes.

Aranya suddenly stood, wiping her tears with shaking hands. Her face was pale, but her eyes had a strange calmness now — the kind of calm that was more dangerous than her breakdown.

“I think I’ve found a solution,” she said quietly.

Veer frowned, a shiver running through him. “Aranya…”

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze flicked from one side of the road to the other, as though searching for something.

“A solution to free you. To free everyone. Where you can live peacefully.” She gave a soft, broken laugh. “That’s what my stepmother told me few minutes ago — that if I had died sooner, all of this wouldn’t have happened.”

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “So maybe… if I die sooner… you’ll finally get your happiness.”

Veer’s blood went cold. “Aranya. Don’t—”

She stepped back, her eyes still on him. “GoodBye, Mr. Veer Chauhan.”

And before either man could react, she turned and ran across the wet road.

A truck horn blared.

“ARANYA!”

Veer lunged forward, his heart slamming against his ribs. He had faced death countless times, but nothing had ever terrified him like this — the sight of her small, trembling figure running straight into the path of an oncoming truck.

Aarav’s voice tore through the rain, raw and desperate. “ARANYA!”

The truck’s headlights blazed against the rain, its brakes screeching. Time seemed to slow. Veer’s feet hit the pavement, his hand outstretched.

For the first time in his life, the Mafia King wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t planning. He wasn’t in control. He was just a man, terrified of losing someone he hadn’t even realized he cared for until this moment.

He didn’t know if he was going to make it in time.

The truck screeched, its horn still blaring in the distance, but before the iron beast could crush her fragile frame, Veer’s arms wrapped around Aranya. He lifted her off the road as if she weighed nothing, as if she were made of feathers, and carried her to the other side.

Aarav stopped dead, his heart racing, chest heaving at what almost happened. For a moment, the world was silent except for the pounding of rain.

But Aranya… she didn’t move.

Her lashes fluttered once, and then closed. Her head fell against Veer’s shoulder, her small fists limp. She had fainted, the trauma too much for her fragile body.

Veer looked down at her face, soaked from the rain, cheeks still blotched red from crying. For the first time, he saw her without the walls she always tried to build — broken, fragile, vulnerable. Something twisted in his chest, a feeling he didn’t want to name.

Wordlessly, he carried her to his car. His movements were steady, controlled, almost too calm, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes darker than night.

He opened the passenger side door and placed her down gently, adjusting the seatbelt across her body. For a moment, his hand lingered, brushing against her damp hair, pushing it away from her face. The sight of her drenched form, shivering even in unconsciousness, gnawed at him.

Rain poured mercilessly, masking the world in silver sheets, but the tension between the two men was louder than thunder.
Veer still stood by the car, his hand on the door handle, his eyes locked on the unconscious girl inside. Aranya’s soaked form looked fragile, lifeless, every rise and fall of her chest a reminder of what could have been lost.

Then came Aarav’s voice. Hard. Controlled. The kind of voice that carried weight not just of a brother… but of a man feared in the shadows.

“Veer,” he said, his words sharp as broken glass. “Is it true? Everything she said tonight?”

Veer turned slowly, his jaw tight. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, without hesitation, he gave a slight nod.
That was all it took.

Aarav’s rage exploded. He stormed forward, grabbed Veer by the collar, and shoved him hard against the car. “You bastard,” he spat, voice shaking with fury. “How dare you treat my sister like that?”

Veer’s lips curved at the side, not in amusement but in something colder — an acknowledgment of the audacity. His voice dropped, velvet wrapped around steel. “Do you even know whose collar you’ve caught, Aarav?”

Aarav’s grip tightened, his eyes burning red in the rain. “I know exactly who I’m holding.” His words were calm, but the venom in them was lethal. “Veer Pratap Singh Chauhan. Business emperor by day. Underworld king by night. The man whose name alone makes cities bow. But right now, Chauhan, none of that matters. Because the man you broke…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “…is my sister.”

Veer’s eyes narrowed, the air thickening with his aura, dark and suffocating. But Aarav didn’t flinch. He wasn’t just some ordinary brother. He was mafia himself. A Rathore. A man who had painted his hands in blood long before this confrontation.

“Careful,” Veer said, voice chillingly calm. “You’re treading on a line you can’t come back from.”

“I don’t care if I cross it,” Aarav snarled. The rain dripped down his jaw, his voice carrying the power of someone who had ruled his own empire. “If she stays with you, she’ll drown. I’m taking her away.”

He released Veer’s collar and turned toward the car, his hand reaching for the passenger side.

But Veer’s hand shot out, gripping Aarav’s wrist with steel-like force. The grip wasn’t just a warning — it was a claim.

“You had her for years,” Veer said, his voice low and sharp as a blade. “Under your roof. Under your protection. Yet she still lived as if she was abandoned. She still bore scars no one healed. She still cried alone at night.” Veer’s gaze turned fierce, cutting into Aarav’s silence. “Where were you then, Rathore? Where was this righteous anger? Where was this brother who pretends to care now?”

The words struck deep, because Veer wasn’t wrong. Aarav’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“Don’t twist this, Chauhan,” Aarav growled. “I wasn’t there when she needed me — fine. I accept that. But I am here now. And I won’t let her die in your cage.”

Veer’s grip tightened, veins rising against his skin. His aura rolled out like a storm, making the air heavy, suffocating. His voice dropped, darker, colder. “Cage?” He leaned closer, his face inches from Aarav’s. “She is not in a cage. She is in my home. My wife. And if anyone — even her brother — tries to take her away from me…” His eyes burned blood-red in the rain. “…I will bury them myself.”

Aarav laughed bitterly, the sound low, dangerous. His own aura surged, meeting Veer’s head-on like two predators circling each other. “You think I’m afraid of you? Don’t forget, Chauhan — Rathores don’t bow. We fight. We bleed. And we don’t care whose throne we burn to ashes if it means protecting our own.”

The clash of power between them was electric, the rain almost hissing as their auras collided.

For a long moment, neither man moved. The storm raged around them, but the true storm was in their eyes — two mafia kings, both claiming the same broken girl inside the car.

Finally, Veer’s grip loosened. Not out of defeat, but out of warning. His voice was deadly calm. “Say whatever you want. Hate me as much as you like. But remember this, Aarav — she walked into my fire, and now she belongs to me. Wife. Responsibility. Burden. Whatever name you want to give it — it’s mine. Not yours.”

Aarav’s nostrils flared, his chest heaving. His fist clenched at his side, aching to punch Veer, to end the arrogance in that face. But his sister’s unconscious form behind the glass stopped him.

Veer stepped back, straightened his soaked shirt, and without another word slid into the driver’s seat. He adjusted the rearview mirror, his eyes locking onto Aarav’s one last time.

“If you hurt her again, Chauhan,” Aarav said, his voice low, vibrating with restrained fury, “I don’t care if you’re the underworld king. I will burn your empire down. Brick by brick. Blood by blood.”

Veer’s lips pressed into a thin line. For once, he didn’t reply.
The engine roared to life, and the car cut through the rain, carrying Aranya away with it.

Aarav stood in the storm, his fists clenched, his body trembling with rage and guilt. The brother in him wanted to rip Aranya away from Veer’s world. But the mafia in him knew — battles like this were never fought with just fists.

And Veer — behind the wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw locked — couldn’t stop glancing at the fragile girl beside him. Her words replayed in his head, each one cutting deeper than a bullet.

For the first time in years, the Mafia King felt something foreign.

Not fear. Not rage.

Guilt.

VEER'S POV

The mansion loomed in silence when I reached, yet the faint echo of chants drifted from outside. Everyone was gathered in the courtyard, performing the puja—hands folded, heads bowed, prayers rising to the Goddess. Lamps flickered in the gentle evening breeze, their light dancing across the walls.

But the only prayer I could think of was the fragile, trembling body in my arms.

Without a word to anyone, I carried Aranya straight to our room. Her skin was cold under my touch, lashes damp with tears, lips quivering slightly, cheeks pale. Even in her brokenness, she looked impossibly beautiful—helpless, fragile, yet stubbornly alive. I laid her down on the bed as if she were the most delicate thing in the world, afraid one wrong move would shatter her completely.

"Everyone bows before their goddess tonight… but mine is lying here broken. And I—" My jaw clenched, words strangled in my throat, "I’m the reason she suffers."

The door creaked open. The doctor entered swiftly, already summoned by my men. His eyes flicked briefly toward me before focusing on her. He quickly checked her pulse, her breathing, the faint color in her lips.

Minutes crawled like hours. I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Her every shallow breath felt like a knife through my chest. The lamps outside threw long shadows across the room, but all I could see was her face, the tiny quivers in her fingers, the faint tremor in her body.

Finally, the doctor straightened. “Sir, Madam fainted due to exhaustion, extreme stress… and…”

“And?” I demanded, the single word sharp and low.

He hesitated, then met my gaze. “And it seems she hasn’t eaten properly in the last few days. Her body is weak. If this continues… it could become serious.”

A vein throbbed at my temple. “So?”