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."

tossed the pack onto

biting down on his filter. He looked defeated. Caleb had already

as an older brother, Chris couldn't just watch Caleb get used by someone

act, pleading, "Rupert, please. Just one last

Rupert glanced over.

long, shaky breath of

Rupert a piece of paper. "Take a look. Recognize

it-a string of numbers

12252050, Red House.

to mean?" he asked, brow

"It's something Sylvia kept

therapist. Said it sounds like some kind of

be the

box. But my friend wouldn't say

had therapy,"

files. Figured maybe you'd know what it

the note on

stared at the numbers, then remembered something from earlier—a timestamp

Suddenly, it clicked.

from Chris's pocket and split up

wide. "December 25th, 8:50

to her

"No," Rupert said instantly.