Chapter 27
"Vengeance is a lazy form of grief." — Unknown The silence that followed Cassius’s departure was more violent than the attack itself. Chloe sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands pressed against her bruised ribs, listening to the fading rhythm of the wind. She waited for the sound of his return—a minute, an hour, three—but the cottage remained a tomb. The fire flickered and died, leaving the room in a suffocating, damp dark that smelled of smoke and her own iron-scented blood. By 4:00 AM, the physical reality of her injuries began to override the shock. Every breath felt like a serrated blade scraping against her lungs. Her left eye had swollen shut, and a deep, pulsing throb in her temple suggested a concussion. She was a nurse; she knew the signs of internal trauma, and she knew she
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