The soft knock at the door pulled Athena from her thoughts.
She had spent hours scouring Starnet, searching for any mention of the major general's blindness, but her efforts had yielded nothing.
His condition was clearly a well-guarded secret, hidden from both the media and the public eye.
It was another puzzle piece in the enigma that was Mors Jericho.
When the door creaked open, Athena glanced up and froze. Standing in the doorway was the major general, clad in simple yet elegant sleepwear.
The soft fabric of his shirt clung to his toned physique, the faint outline of his defined muscles and chiseled abs visible beneath.
Her pulse quickened, and she inwardly chastised herself.
Focus, Athena. You're not here to ogle the enemy or your husband...
Mors stepped into the room with an air of quiet authority, his movements graceful despite the supposed impairment of his sight.
"Why are you still awake, wife?" he asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.
He really dared to call me wife?
Athena quickly masked her thoughts and shifted to the side, making room for him on the bed.
She tried to appear nonchalant as she answered, "It is the duty of a wife to wait for her husband."
Mors quirked an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.
"That sounds more like a line from a drama than something you'd say," he remarked, his tone amused yet laced with curiosity.
Athena shrugged lightly, leaning back against the headboard. "Perhaps it is. But it's fitting, isn't it?"
For a moment, there was silence between them. Athena stole a glance at him, noting how relaxed he seemed despite their awkward circumstances.
She wondered if he sensed the tension lingering in the air or if he had grown so accustomed to hiding his emotions that it didn't faze him.
Mors turned his head slightly in her direction as if he could see through the darkness. "Do you make it a habit to wait up for people, or am I special?"
Athena couldn't help but smile faintly at his teasing tone. "Don't flatter yourself, Major General. I simply didn't feel like sleeping yet."
"Convenient," he murmured, his voice dropping a notch.
The way he spoke sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept her expression composed. Athena shifted slightly, placing her hands in her lap.
"Shouldn't you rest? Being a military hero must be exhausting."
Mors tilted his head as if considering her words. "Perhaps. But I've found that homecomings can be even more tiring than battlefields."
The weight of his words hung in the air, and Athena felt a pang of sympathy she hadn't expected. He's carrying more than just his blindness, she realized.
As he leaned back against the pillows, Athena decided to let the conversation rest. She turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a comforting darkness.
For now, she would let him have his peace. Tomorrow, the questions could wait.
Athena thought the night would pass uneventfully, but her sleep was broken by an icy chill an hour after midnight.
Something was wrong.
The man beside her, Mors Jericho, felt unnaturally cold. The kind of cold that sent alarm bells ringing in her head.
She moved closer, careful not to disturb him, but he didn't react to her presence.
The faint light of the moon filtered through the window, illuminating his face. What she saw made her heart lurch.
His complexion was ghostly pale, his brow slick with sweat despite the icy temperature of his body. His lips moved faintly, murmuring incoherent words in a voice that barely registered.
Athena's instincts kicked in. She sat up and placed a hand on his forehead, her fingers brushing damp, clammy skin.
His body felt like ice, the kind of cold that no human should endure.
Has he been poisoned?
Her breath quickened as she grabbed his wrist, searching for his pulse. It was erratic, weak, and thready, signs of something severe coursing through his system.
What kind of poison could cause this? So fierce, so relentless...
Without wasting another moment, she flipped on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with warm light. The sight of him, so vulnerable and pale, sent a wave of urgency through her.
First, she turned to the room's environmental controls, cranking up the temperature to combat the bone-chilling cold that seemed to radiate from him.
The hum of the heater filled the silence, but the warmth wasn't working fast enough.
Returning to his side, she carefully examined his body, searching for any signs of external wounds, swelling, discoloration, or inflammation, but there was nothing.
No visible entry point for a toxin, and no clue as to what had caused this sudden attack.
Frustration bubbled within her.
With no external injuries to address, Athena resorted to the most basic form of care she could think of.
She bundled him tightly in the thick blankets, hoping to trap what little warmth he had left. Her hands hovered above him for a moment, uncertainty and fear gnawing at her resolve.
This isn't enough. He's getting worse.
Mors's lips moved again, his voice faint, but she couldn't make out the words.
She leaned closer, desperate to understand, but all she caught were fragments, disjointed and meaningless.
What is this? A recurring condition? A military injury? Or something more sinister?
Her assassin's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of what she knew about him.
This man, her unexpected husband, was a major general, a symbol of strength and authority. And yet, here he was, at the mercy of something she couldn't yet identify.
She clenched her fists, determination hardening her resolve. If this was poison, then she would find the antidote.
If this was some mysterious illness, she would discover its cause. For now, she had to keep him stable.
"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.
All of a sudden, Mors stirred. His icy hand reached out, fumbling in the air until it found hers. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone in such a dire state.
Before she could react, he pulled her into a fierce embrace.
Damn it!