Luther Family Manor.
Though Camilla remained unconscious, her rest was far from peaceful.
Her body alternated between burning fever and icy chills.
"Sweetheart, I'm so hot..."
"Sweetheart, I'm freezing..."
Her delirious murmurs tore at Sinclair's heart, each word like a knife twisting in his chest.
But Iris had been clear—these were unavoidable aftereffects of the parasite transfer.
There was no remedy, no shortcut.
With a damp towel in hand, Sinclair patiently wiped her sweat-drenched skin, his movements gentle yet relentless.
His dark eyes held nothing but tenderness, devoid of even a trace of desire.
When the chills seized her, he shed his own clothes and gathered her close, letting his body warmth seep into her trembling form.
Seven or eight exhausting hours later, as noon sunlight filtered through the curtains, Camilla finally stirred.
Her lashes fluttered open—only to meet the abyssal darkness of Sinclair's gaze.
