Chapter Two: The Boy Who Had Her Eyes
The surgery took six hours.
Lian removed the bullet fragment from the boy’s pericardium. Repaired the ventricular tear. Closed the chest with a precision that made her residents whisper.
She didn’t speak during any of it.
Not when the boy’s heart stopped twice.
Not when she held that small, perforated muscle in her gloved hands and pumped it back to life.
Not when the boy — Mikhail, the chart said, Mikhail Vex — opened his eyes on the table and looked directly at her.
Those grey eyes.
And that small mole above his left eyebrow.
Identical to hers.
It can’t be.
She finished the closure. Stripped off her gloves. Walked out of the OR without a word to anyone.
Kael was waiting in the corridor.
He looked worse than six hours ago. His white shirt was stained with blood — the boy’s blood. His hair was disheveled. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to physically restrain himself.
“Is he—”
“Stable.”
Kael’s knees buckled slightly.
He caught himself on the wall.
“Can I see him?”
“He’s in recovery. You can see him in an hour.”
Lian started walking.
Kael followed.
“Lian. Stop. Please.”
She kept walking.
“I know you hate me.”
That made her turn.
“Hate you?” Her voice was quiet. That was worse than screaming. “I don’t hate you, Kael. I don’t think about you at all.”
He flinched.
Good.
“You need to think about me now,” he said. “Someone shot my son. In my house. While he was sleeping in his bed.”
“That sounds like a police matter.”
“The police can’t help me.”
“Then hire better security.”
“I’m not here for security.” Kael stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell him. Cedar. Gunpowder. The same scent that used to linger on her pillow. “I’m here because you’re the best surgeon in the city. And I need you to keep him alive.”
“He’s stable. He’ll live.”
“I need you to find out who did this.”
Lian laughed.
It was not a happy sound.
“You want me to be your surgeon and your investigator? I’m a doctor, Kael. Not a soldier. Not anymore.”
Something flickered across his face.
Anymore.
Because once, she had been his soldier. His partner. The woman who stood beside him while he burned down empires.
Until he left her with nothing but a note.
“Mikhail has no mother,” Kael said quietly. “It’s just me. And if I lose him—”
“Then you should have thought about that before you made enemies who shoot children.”
She walked away.
This time, he didn’t follow.
But when she reached the elevator, she looked back.
Kael was leaning against the wall, head bowed, one hand pressed flat against the glass of the recovery room window.
He was crying.
Lian had never seen Kaelen Vex cry.
The elevator doors closed.
She pressed her forehead against the cold metal.
And she remembered.
