TRISTAN

An hour later, we arrived, and I got out to see Wilson's car driving in too.

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and hope, a sharp contrast to the cells.

I didn't wait for the elevator; I took the stairs two at a time and headed straight for Marie’s private ward.

When I pushed the door open, the tension in my shoulders finally began to melt.

Yelena was already there, standing by the bed. She looked up as I entered, her face etched with a mixture of anxiety and focus.

I didn't ...