Chapter 107

Aurora's POV

The emergency alarm shattered the quiet of the medical facility at three in the morning, its urgent wail cutting through my restless sleep like a blade. I bolted upright, heart hammering as I processed what that sound meant in a place dedicated to healing.

I ran down the corridor in bare feet and sleep clothes, the cold linoleum waking me. My mother's room was chaotic, with healers efficiently working around her bed, faces grim. Monitors beeped urgently, showing vital signs I could read as dangerous.

"Her body is rejecting the treatment," Dr. Matthews explained when he saw me hovering in the doorway. His usually calm demeanor was strained, worry lines etched deep around his eyes. "We need more aggressive intervention, but the risks are significant."

I stood frozen, watching the woman who had raised me fight for each breath. The sight of her so fragile and vulnerable, surrounded by machines that beeped their electronic warnings, was devastating.

Kane appeared beside me without being summoned. His hair was disheveled, his uniform hastily thrown on, suggesting he'd been awakened by the same alarm that had jolted me from sleep.

"The Alpha King's premier specialists are en route," he said quietly, his voice rough with sleep and concern. "I've also arranged for consultation with the healing experts from Silver Falls—they have experience with this specific condition."

I stared at him, trying to process what he'd just said. "You already called them? At three in the morning?"

"I made arrangements," Kane said simply, as if mobilizing elite healers across territorial boundaries in the middle of the night was routine procedure.

The scope of his preparation became clear as the morning progressed. Kane anticipated this crisis, creating contingency plans most couldn't arrange in weeks, let alone hours.

He had priority access to healers needing months of booking, transportation across jurisdictions, and bureaucratic barriers that should have required extensive negotiation simply... didn't exist.

Dr. Matthews looked relieved for the first time since the crisis began. "The additional expertise could make all the difference. Silver Falls has pioneered treatments for this specific condition."

As my mother was moved to intensive care, I watched Kane handle logistics efficiently, making calls with authority, arranging transport beyond borders, and summoning specialized equipment seemingly by magic.

When the immediate crisis stabilized and my mother was finally resting comfortably, I found Kane in the family consultation room. He was reviewing her charts with the focused attention of someone who understood medical terminology far better than a security specialist should.

"Thank you," I said simply. "For all of it. For caring enough to plan for the worst while hoping for the best."

Kane's response was immediate and unguarded. "I can't lose you."

The words hung between us, raw and honest. Not "I can't fail in my assignment" or "The mission requires your wellbeing." Just the simple truth: he couldn't lose me.

"You won't," I whispered back, but we both knew how fragile that promise was.

My mother regained consciousness late that evening, weak but alert enough to take in her surroundings. Her eyes immediately found Kane, who was maintaining his usual position near the door—close enough to provide protection, far enough to maintain the illusion of professional distance.

"The young man with the worried eyes," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying the sharp intelligence I remembered. "He's been here all day, hasn't he?"

"Most of it," I admitted, glancing at Kane, who was suddenly very interested in studying the window blinds.

"What's his name?" my mother asked, though her tone suggested she was testing my willingness to be honest rather than seeking information.

"Kane," I replied, watching his reaction carefully.

"Kane," my mother repeated thoughtfully. "He has kind hands."

Kane's flush was immediate and obvious, spreading from his collar to his ears. The observation was so unexpected, so personal, that it seemed to short-circuit his usual deflection mechanisms.

"Kind hands?" I asked, curious about what she'd noticed that I'd missed.

"The way he adjusts your pillows when he thinks you're not looking," my mother said with gentle amusement. "The way he makes sure your water glass is always full. The way he positioned the chair so you'd have the best view of my monitors without straining your neck."

I turned to look at Kane, who was now approximately the color of a ripe tomato and seemed to be trying to disappear into the wall.

"Young man," my mother called directly to Kane, "would you come here please?"

Kane approached with obvious reluctance, his military bearing intact but his nervousness visible to anyone who knew how to read the signs.

"Yes, ma'am?" he said formally.

"Thank you," my mother said simply, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had spent decades reading people's motivations. "For taking such good care of both of us."

Kane's response started formal but became increasingly genuine as he spoke. "Your daughter... she matters. Her well-being matters. I couldn't stand by and watch either of you suffer if there was something I could do to help."

The admission was more honest than anything he'd said in weeks. No bureaucratic explanations, no professional justifications. Just the truth: we mattered to him.

My mother's smile was knowing and gentle. "I can see that, dear. The question is whether you're brave enough to let yourself feel it without fighting it."

Kane's expression went through several changes before settling on something that looked almost like hope. "I'm trying to learn how."

"Learning how to care without fear is the hardest lesson any of us face," my mother said with the wisdom of someone who had loved deeply and lost much. "But it's also the most important one."

As the evening progressed, my mother used her improved condition to study Kane with the intelligence that had made her an effective advisor.

"How long have you been protecting my daughter?" she asked.

"Officially? A few weeks," Kane replied carefully. "Unofficially... longer than that."

"And how long have you been in love with her?"

The direct question made Kane freeze like a deer in headlights. For a moment, I thought he might retreat behind his professional walls again.

"I don't know," he said finally, his voice quiet but honest. "Maybe since the first time I saw her stand up to someone twice her size and refuse to back down. Maybe since the first time she trusted me enough to fall asleep in my presence. I just know that somewhere along the way, protecting her stopped being a job and became... necessary."

The conversation was interrupted by Dr. Matthews arriving with updated test results. My mother's condition had stabilized dramatically—the new treatments were working better than anyone had dared hope.

"The specialists from Silver Falls believe we've turned the corner," he announced with obvious relief. "Her body is finally accepting the treatment. With continued care, she should make a full recovery."

The relief that flooded through me was so overwhelming that my knees nearly buckled. Kane was beside me instantly, his hand steady on my arm as I processed the news that my mother was going to be okay.

"Thank you," I whispered to him, and this time he didn't deflect or minimize his role.

"Thank you for letting me help," he replied simply.

As we settled in for what would hopefully be our last night in the medical facility's family room, my mother's words about learning to care without fear echoed in my mind. Kane was trying—I could see him struggling to lower his walls, to let himself feel without immediately retreating into professional distance.

"Kane?" I said softly as he settled into the chair that had become his customary post.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you were here. I couldn't have gotten through this without you."

Kane's response was immediate and unguarded. "I couldn't have been anywhere else."

For the first time since our escape from Blood Moon territory, the words between us felt honest and real. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new threats, new reasons for Kane to rebuild his walls. But tonight, in the quiet of the medical facility, we had found something that felt like the beginning of trust again.