The hallway outside Yvonne's bed chamber had become Matt's world.
For two days, he had barely left it. He stood guard by the door like a sentinel carved from stone, leaving only for essential needs and returning before anyone could notice his absence. The castle staff had stopped trying to bring him food after the first day—he hadn't touched any of it. His eyes remained fixed on the door, his ears tuned to any sound from within.
The silver dust had done its work well. Maybe too well.
Yvonne had been in incubation since the attack, her body fighting a war it was never designed to fight. The silver had eaten through most of her organs—her liver, her kidneys, the delicate tissues of her lungs. Her regeneration, usually so swift it could heal a broken bone in hours, had slowed to a crawl. The healers said she was stable, but stable was not the same as safe.
