Eldur's POV
It had been two weeks. Fourteen days of hell.
Nova wasn't getting better. She was getting worse.
It got so bad that Dad had no choice but to bring in a private doctor—someone skilled, discreet, and completely clueless about the supernatural world. The guy came in every single day, suitcase in hand, eyes tired but polite, ready to check on Nova without even knowing the full weight of what he was dealing with.
But the real work? That fell on Dad.
Every time the doctor left, Dad would gently wipe his memory clean—scrubbing away every trace of Nova's condition, her name, the castle, all of it—like it never happened. And the next day, when the doctor returned, Dad would patiently feed those memories back into him. Every visit, every detail, like reloading a saved game file. Over and over.
