Chapter 2 - The Silent Signal
Roman felt the air leave his lungs as he stared at the glowing screen.
R. O. M. A. N.
On the screen, Claire sat back, her hands trembling slightly as she held the laminated board. She looked at Ethan’s face—at his wide, dark eyes, brimming with a silent, desperate intensity.
“You want me to tell Roman?” Claire asked in a quiet, steady voice.
Ethan blinked. Once.
“Is he in danger?”
Ethan blinked twice. No.
Claire lowered her chin, processing this. “Are you in danger?”
Ethan’s eyelids closed and stayed shut for a long, deliberate three seconds. It was a emphatic, agonizing yes.
In his private study, Roman didn't wait to see another frame. He pushed back from his desk, the heavy leather chair scraping sharply against the hardwood, and strode out the door. His footsteps were silent on the thick Persian runners lining the corridor of the Lake Forest mansion.
He didn't bring his men. He didn't signal his head of security, Victor. For twenty-two months, Roman had operated on the assumption that money, firepower, and top-tier medical experts were shielding his brother from the brutal world outside.
He had been dead wrong.
Roman reached the heavy double doors of the private medical wing. He pushed them open without a sound.
Claire whirled around, dropping the laminated board onto the edge of the bed, her face turning pale as her full frame went rigid. “Mr. Hale—I… I was just changing his IV saline drip—”
“Leave the board, Claire,” Roman said. His voice was terrifyingly low, a gravelly whisper that cut through the soft humming of the heart monitor.
Claire froze. Her dark auburn hair had slipped from its bun, framing a face etched with fear, not for herself, but for the man in the bed. She instinctively stepped between Roman and Ethan, her broad shoulders squared, her full body acting as a physical shield.
“He’s not crazy, Mr. Hale,” she said, her voice shaking but unyielding. “And he’s not a ghost inside a shell. He’s in there. He’s been in there the whole time.”
Roman stopped three feet from her. He looked down at the woman in the gray housekeeping dress. He saw the faint sweat on her brow, the cheap sneakers gripping the floor, the absolute defiance in her eyes.
“I know,” Roman said softly.
Claire blinked, stunned. “What?”
Roman didn't answer her. He looked past her shoulder to his brother. Ethan’s eyes were locked on his.
Roman knelt by the side of the bed, taking Ethan’s right hand in his own. It was cool, the fingers slightly stiff.
“Ethan,” Roman murmured, his voice cracking for the first time in two years. “Can you hear me?”
Ethan blinked. Once.
A hard, sharp knot in Roman’s chest shattered. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back, replaced instantly by a surge of pure, lethal focus. He picked up the alphabet board from the blanket and held it in front of Ethan.
“Who is doing this to you?” Roman asked. “Is it someone in this house?”
Ethan blinked once.
May you like
Roman looked up at Claire, whose hands were pressed against her mouth, tears flowing freely down her soft cheeks.
“Claire,” Roman commanded quietly. “Grab a chair. Sit down. You’re going to help me read my brother.”
