53. The Gathering Storm

The night had already settled deep over Arthur Palace when Elijah returned.

The sky was an inky black, moonlight barely peeking through the thick clouds.

He entered silently, his footsteps soft against the marble floor as he made his way upstairs.

His mind was filled with the satisfaction of the night’s events, but the dark shadow of concern for Sophia loomed larger than his vengeance.

He stepped into Sophia’s room, where the soft beeping of machines echoed against the stillness.

Elijah’s eyes fell on her frail form, still unconscious but showing slight signs of improvement.

Her breathing was steadier, and her color had returned to a shade closer to normal. He approached her bedside, checking her vitals once more.

"You're fighting," he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. "Good. Keep fighting."

Elijah sat down by her side, the weight of the past weeks pressing on him.

He had done everything he could—used every ounce of his medical knowledge, every herb, ever
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