A soft knock on the door made Nevaeh turn around. A middle-aged woman stood there, her expression a mixture of shock and curiosity. She was dressed in a crisp maid's uniform, her neatly tied bun revealing a few strands of graying hair.
Nevaeh straightened. She hadn't expected anyone else to be here.
The woman stepped inside, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on Nevaeh's hand—still held tightly by Mordred, even in his sleep.
"Who… are you?" the maid asked, her voice laced with surprise.
Nevaeh blinked, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "I—uh, I'm Nevaeh. A journalist."
The maid's brows shot up. "A journalist? Then… what are you doing here?"
Nevaeh hesitated before gesturing toward Mordred. "He called me. He was burning up, and I—I couldn't just ignore him."
The woman folded her arms, tilting her head as if trying to make sense of what she was seeing. "That's odd."
"What do you mean?" Nevaeh asked.
The maid sighed and walked closer, glancing down at Mordred. His face was peaceful now, his grip still firm around Nevaeh's hand as if he was afraid she'd disappear.
"In all the years I've worked here, I've never seen him like this," the maid admitted. "He doesn't let anyone take care of him. He barely lets anyone get close, even when he's sick. Not his assistants, not his staff, not even his manager."
Nevaeh's lips parted slightly. She looked down at Mordred's sleeping face. His usual unreadable expression was gone, replaced by something softer, something more… real.
"I… I don't know why he called me," she admitted.
The maid studied her for a moment before nodding. "Maybe even he doesn't know why."
Nevaeh swallowed. What was she supposed to do with that?
The maid walked toward the door but paused. "Stay with him."
Nevaeh blinked. "What?"
The maid glanced back at her, a knowing look in her eyes. "Whatever's happening between you two… don't push it away just because it doesn't make sense yet."
With that, she left the room, leaving Nevaeh alone with Mordred once again.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her gaze shifted back to the man holding onto her like she was his anchor.
Whatever this was… it was dangerous.
And yet, for some reason, she couldn't pull away.