Chapter121

Deborah's POV

The moment I heard the news of Chad's injury, I hurried to the hospital without hesitation.

The journey was a blur of swirling thoughts and rising unease. Why had this happened? He had delivered Matthew safely back to Tirfothuinn—why would the wolves have turned on him so viciously? The questions circled endlessly in my mind, leaving me with nothing but dread.

The hospital's bright but eerily quiet corridors only heightened my tension. The sharp scent of disinfectant, mingled with a faint trace of blood, clung to the air like a heavy fog, impossible to escape.

I approached a nurse and inquired about his condition. Her expression remained professional as she recounted the severity of his injuries. Chad had been attacked by a pack of wolves on the ground. His body bore deep, jagged wounds, and by the time he was brought in, he was barely clinging to life.

"He was in critical condition when he arrived," the nurse explained. "He was rushed into surgery and spent an entire day and night in the operating room. It's a miracle he survived."

Relief flooded me, only to be swiftly tempered by guilt. Chad had been in the intensive care unit for two days, and yet I was only now learning of his injury. The thought gnawed at me: Had I failed him by relying on him too much? Or was this simply the price he paid for standing on our side?

When I finally pushed open the door to his room, the sight before me made my breath catch.

Chad lay motionless on the stark white bed, encased by the rhythmic hum of machines. Tubes and monitors attached to his body mapped every shallow breath, every faint heartbeat. His face was pale as the sheets, devoid of its usual sharp vitality. He looked vulnerable in a way I had never imagined—so different from the unyielding strength he always carried like a shield.

His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful but far too still. For a moment, I thought back to all the times I had clung to the idea of him as an enemy, a betrayer. But now, as I watched him like this, I felt a pang of something unfamiliar.

Was it pity? Compassion? I wasn't sure.

Why had it come to this? My mind refused to let go of the question. He had already done so much—helped deliver crucial information, ensured Matthew's safety, even turned his back on the power structures he once served. What had driven the wolves to attack him so savagely?

I visited him every day after that, though he remained unconscious. I brought him flowers—plucked from the garden at the Edwards estate. They weren't particularly beautiful, nor did they possess the vibrant life one might expect from something meant to cheer the wounded. But in the sterile, lifeless confines of the Sky City, they were the closest thing to hope I could offer.

I'd place the flowers on the small table beside his bed and sit quietly for hours. Sometimes I would simply watch him, my mind wandering between questions I couldn't answer and memories I couldn't escape. Other times, I'd focus on the flowers themselves, their petals slowly wilting, as if reflecting the helplessness I felt.

On the seventh day of his admission, Chad woke.

I entered the room as I always did, carrying a fresh bouquet. But this time, when I looked toward the bed, I saw his eyes open. I froze, startled by the sudden clarity in his gaze.

Our eyes met, holding for a long moment as neither of us moved.

His expression was unreadable at first, but as the seconds stretched on, it began to shift. Shock. Relief. Joy. And something deeper, something so intense it made my breath hitch—a kind of longing, mixed with an overwhelming sense of solace, as if he'd been waiting for this moment far longer than I could comprehend.

That look—it was a gaze I knew all too well. I had seen it before, in another life, when Chad had looked at Lianora the way he was looking at me now.

And yet, I didn't want to believe it. How could he…? When had this begun? Was it during the chaotic escape from Murias? Or had he seen through this body to the soul within, recognizing the woman he once loved?

Despite the stark differences between Deborah and Lianora, they shared the same soul. Perhaps that was enough—enough for him to see in me the echoes of someone he had loved so deeply, someone he had lost.

I lowered my gaze, unable to meet his any longer. The intensity of his feelings was too much to face, and I wasn't ready to confront what it might mean.

Chad didn't speak; he couldn't. His body was still too battered to allow him even the smallest of movements without agony. But his eyes never left me, following my every motion as I placed the flowers on the table.

"These are from the garden," I murmured, gesturing toward the bouquet. "I thought they might help brighten the room. Maybe they'll make you feel a little better."

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, a slow, deliberate motion that I took as his way of thanking me.

Looking at him now—so vulnerable, so far removed from the man I thought I knew—I felt a stirring of emotions I couldn't entirely suppress.

This was the same Chad who had played a part in the destruction of my family, the same man who had once been an agent of Lugh's power. And yet, as much as I tried to hold on to my hatred, it felt weaker now, like a tether fraying at the edges.

But then I would remember Hybrasil. I would remember the screams, the betrayal, the lies. And the fury would return, sharp and unyielding, reminding me of why I could never fully trust him.

"I should go," I said after a long silence, rising to my feet. "It's late, and you need rest."

His eyes followed me, and there was something almost pleading in his expression, a reluctance to let me leave. His gaze softened, reddened slightly at the edges, and it struck me just how much emotion he was holding back.

"I'll come back tomorrow," I promised gently.

His tense shoulders seemed to relax at my words. He closed his eyes once more, then opened them, a slow and deliberate gesture of acknowledgment.

As I left the room, the weight of his gaze lingered with me, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Chad, what are you hiding?

The question echoed in my mind long after the door closed behind me.