Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

When the last drop of liquid vanished from the syringe into the IV tube, the doctor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction—a little too much, like he'd just pulled off a clever trick.

But before he could even turn around to bask in his victory, his expression twisted in shock. Just like that, his knees buckled-he crumpled to the linoleum floor in a heap, as powerless as a toy with dead batteries.

As the doctor hit the ground, the man standing behind him stepped into the light.

He was handsome, but something in his gaze hinted at danger, like a wolf in a tailored suit.

Rupert wiped his hands on a napkin. "Take him outside," he said, his voice steady.

With barely a grunt, Orson stepped forward and dragged the unconscious doctor away with one hand, as if hauling out the trash after a Fourth of July barbecue.

Suddenly, the room was silent-eerily so.

Rupert sat on the edge of the hospital bed and gently peeled off the medical tape from the back of Sylvia's hand. Underneath, the IV needle hadn't even pierced her skin-it was all a sleight of hand.

He ran his thumb over her pale, quiet hand, his eyes lingering on her peaceful face. His stare was intense, emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Then, he looked away, letting his lashes shadow whatever he was feeling.

Still, he held her hand tighter.

Minutes passed in stillness, until Rupert's phone buzzed. Only then did he finally stand and leave the room.

He knocked and stepped into Chris's office.

Chris sat by the window, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. When he saw Rupert, he forced a tired smile.

"Sorry, man. If it wasn't for Caleb, none of this mess would've happened. I'm sorting things out-sending him out of the country."

a cigarette, lit it, and tossed the pack onto the windowsill. His voice

his filter. He looked defeated. Caleb had already trashed his room that morning,

couldn't just watch Caleb get used by someone like

dropped the tough guy act, pleading, "Rupert, please. Just one last time, alright? I'm

Rupert

long, shaky breath of

cigarette and handed Rupert a piece of paper. "Take

it-a string of numbers and

12252050, Red House.

mean?"

"It's something Sylvia kept

mine, he's a therapist. Said it sounds

be

friend wouldn't

had therapy," Rupert

her files. Figured maybe you'd

left the note on

at the numbers, then remembered something from earlier—a

Suddenly, it clicked.

Chris's

wide. "December 25th, 8:50 PM, Red House! Christmas

to

"No," Rupert said instantly.