The morning light filtered softly through the sheer curtains of the master bedroom, casting a gentle glow over the room. Under the blankets, Sarah stirred, her body weighed with fever and tiredness. The bed was unboundedly soft, the linens exquisite on her flesh, but the comfort was alien, strange. Her senses gradually came back, and she saw the strange surroundings: the soft bed, the sophisticated furniture, the faint aroma of pricey cologne still in the air. All felt far-off, like waking up in another person's life.
Her head was foggy; the events of the preceding few days blended into a disorienting mix of pain and anxiety. She could recall flashes—voices, times of great heat and cold, and a black figure hovering at the brink of her awareness. She battled to put together her path here, in this large, lavish space more like a museum than a house.
Pushing herself slightly, Sarah winced as a dull anguish coursed through her body. Her head whirled as she tried to concentrate on her surroundings; her limbs were tired. She was weak. The area was softly lit, and the pale blue walls with their understated artwork felt out of place in such a large context. Like the man who had brought her here, everything was perfectly organized and every element painstakingly prepared.
She was taken from her ideas by a gentle knock at the door. The door creaked open before she could reply, and Dr. Michael Shaw entered with a deliberately neutral air as he went to her bedside. He had a nice face, one that radiated professionalism but also warmth—something badly lacking in the preceding few days.
"Good morning, Sarah," he said, a friendly, businesslike smile. "How are you feeling right now?
Blinking several times, Sarah tried to concentrate on his face. Though her voice still sounded alien to her ears, "better, I think," she said. Just... weary.
Michael nodded and settled on the side of the bed. He had experienced this kind of tiredness before—not only bodily but also the sort that sank deeply into a person's soul. He had seen it in troops who had come back from near death, and now he saw it in this fragile woman who had somehow found herself caught in Ethan Wright's life.
"You have gone through a lot," he replied gently. You should relax as much as you can. Your body wants time to heal.
Sarah's eyes strayed to the window, where the morning sun was gradually rising across the metropolitan skyline. Her voice almost above a whisper, she whispered, "Is he still here?"
Knowing exactly who she was referring to, Michael paused. "He's here," he said, a moment later. But he is allowing you room. He would want to check on your situation.
She closed her eyes, a whirl of feelings inside her—fear, uncertainty, something else she couldn't quite name. The memory of his cold, intense gaze sent a shiver down her spine. There was something about Ethan Wright that both terrified and fascinated her, and she wasn't sure which feeling was stronger.