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I press my mouth to Lana’s temple. “That ends now. No more gaps. No more assumptions. From now on, access to you is locked. Your protection is no longer implied, it’s enforced.”
Brox presses a kiss to the top of her head, then lifts her chin gently, guiding her face upward to look at us. He wipes the tears from beneath her eyes.
“And that is a promise, cupcake. But we gotta do everything one step at a time. And our first step is you calling the hospital where you work. They reported you missing yesterday and we don’t want the police showing up on our doorstep.” His voice is calm, practical, already thinking ahead while Lana leans into him, still shaking.
“Oh. S–sure.” The request blindsides her. She wipes her nose with the corner of the towel wrapped around her body, trying to steady herself. “Can I use your cell?”
I unlock my cell and hand it to her as she sniffles and clears her throat. Then she dials and sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for someone to pick up.
“Mary? It’s me. Georgina.” Her posture changes, her voice becomes warm and professional.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I lost my cell, and I wasn’t staying at home. Yes. I’m fine.”
She listens to Mary speaking for a while, shoulders dropping.
“Tonight? You’re short staffed?”
Brox and I share a look. Mary must be explaining the situation in detail, because Lana waits longer this time.
“I-I suppose I can come and help,” Lana looks at us. “Yes, I can. Maybe in half an hour.”
Brox leans forward. “What are you doing?”
She covers the cell’s mike, her expression pleading. “Please. I need to get out here. For my sanity.”
I meet Brox’s gaze and mutter, hoping Lana won’t hear me. “Morti did call several times.”
Brox swears something under his breath, rubbing at his forehead. He glances at Lana and nods, and she returns to her call and confirms details before hanging up. Then, slow and unsteady, she starts gathering clothes, dressing up. She slips into underwear, pulls on jeans, tucks a pale top into the waistband with small, careful motions. She ties her damp hair into a low ponytail.
“Is it not too soon for her to be sorting out Alessio’s problem?” Brox asks me quietly.
I nod slowly. “Maybe. But we need her. If she’s willing.”
Lana hands my cell back and steps to her dresser to grab socks. She bends, sits on the mattress, and pulls them on. Then she reaches for her sneakers.
Brox and I watch her in silence until she turns around.
“I’ll be fine. I just.. I just need to clear my head.”
“Are you sure you’re fine?” I ask her.
“I slept for what, twelve hours? I’m fine. I promise.”
I watch her eyes closely. No dilation. No tremor in her hands. She is clear, alert, stable.
“Very well,” I say. “At some point tonight, make sure you visit Alessio and change his bandage. They can’t discharge him without that done.”
Lana’s face freezes for a moment as memory hits her. She looks between us as if waiting for reassurance.
“He… he won’t expect more, will he? I’m Georgina there…and...”
“Don’t worry.” I reassure her. “Morti’s with him. And he knows you’re there strictly for the wound.”
Her eyes lock with mine, then with Brox. “Okay,” she whispers, her tension lifting.
When she’s finished, she slides off the bed and adjusts her top. She looks ready for ordinary life as if she didn’t spend the last day trapped under a lab, being drugged.
Her recovery is sudden but stable. Morales’ assistant knew what he was doing.
