Rain soaks through my coat the second I step out of the car.
The hospital glows like a white tomb under the gray sky, windows lit in rows like hollow eyes. I stare at the entrance longer than I need to, then finally push the door open and head inside. Everything smells like sterilized grief—bleach, metal, and bad coffee.
I don't belong here. I'm used to meetings in hotel penthouses, warehouses that smell like oil and blood, and dinner tables where everything unsaid is more important than what's spoken aloud.
Not this. Not white walls and nurses behind glass.
But when McAllister Knight calls, you show up. Whether he's bleeding out or just wants a damn cigarette, you show up.
Especially when it's about Everett.
A nurse at the front desk doesn't even ask who I am. She waves me down a hallway like I'm expected. Guess my name still means something.
Fourth floor. Eastside wing. ICU.
I find him sitting up in bed, hooked to machines that beep softly behind him. The color's drained from his face, and he's not wearing the tailored suit or the perfectly shined shoes or the signature steel-cut smirk. Just a pale hospital gown, a fading pulse, and eyes that haven't softened—not even now.
McAllister Knight looks like death brushed past him and decided to wait outside.
"You look like shit," I say.
He snorts faintly. "And you still dress like an Armani catalog. Guess we're both consistent."
I lean against the wall, arms folded, letting my gaze drag across the room, the machines, the IV. "I thought you didn't get sick."
"I didn't," he says. "Until I did."
There's a long pause.
I've known McAllister for eleven years. He was never a friend. He was a gate. A wall. A guardian with a quiet voice and eyes like razors. He taught me to think in angles. To move in silence. To look three steps ahead and burn bridges only after you've built escape tunnels.
He never let me near Everett.
Not once.
"You called me," I say, voice low. "So what is this? You dying or just bored?"
"I'm not dead," he mutters.
"But you're close enough to be scared. That's why I'm here."
He glares at me, but it's weak, and we both know it.
"I need a favor," he says.
That's not what he means. McAllister Knight doesn't ask for favors. He doesn't need. He moves the pieces and watches the board. If he's asking, it means something's out of his hands.
"Alright," I say. "Let's hear it."
His lips press into a line. His eyes flick toward the door as if to double-check Everett's not coming down the hallway. He settles back against the pillows, like just sitting up is exhausting now.
"I can't protect him anymore."
He doesn't have to say the name. We both know who he means.
My pulse kicks up. I shift my stance, carefully neutral.
"He's smart," I offer. "Stronger than you think."
"He's normal," McAllister snaps. "Because I made him that way. Because I spent twenty goddamn years keeping this world away from him. And now, it's at the front door."
"Then let me help him."
"You think I haven't heard that before?"
I say nothing.
His gaze hardens. "You've been in love with my son since you were nineteen."
My throat goes tight, but I keep my expression blank.
"Since the first time you saw him," he continues. "When you showed up at the townhouse with your father and he ran past the stairwell with a popsicle in his hand. You stared at him like he was the sun."
I exhale slowly. "You always said you didn't want him near the business."
"I don't," he growls. "That hasn't changed."
"So why am I here?"
He looks at me then. Really looks. And it's not a warning or a threat—not the way he usually stares when he's about to give an order.
It's something closer to defeat.
"I don't trust most men in this business," he says quietly. "And the ones I do trust, I wouldn't leave alone in a room with my son."
"You trust me?"
"No," he answers instantly. "But you've wanted him too long to hurt him. And that's the only kind of loyalty I can count on now."
My chest tightens. I want to say something sharp, but I can't. Not when he's right.
"You're asking me to protect him," I say. "That's all?"
"No." He closes his eyes for a second. "I'm asking you to marry him."
The silence after that is complete. Heavy.
"Say it again," I say, almost in a whisper.
"If I die, you marry him. You stay close. You take over everything I can't finish. You protect him with your life."
"You think Everett's just going to go along with that?" I ask, heartbeat thrumming under my skin. "You think he'll say yes because you wrote it in some will?"
McAllister's eyes open. "He won't know. Not yet. He can't. He'll run the second he feels the cage."
"So you want me to lie to him."
"I want you to do what needs to be done."
I walk to the window, staring down at the ambulance bay. My reflection is faint in the glass—coat collar soaked, jaw tense.
"I've been waiting for a chance to get close to him for years," I say finally. "But not like this."
"You don't get to be picky, Lancaster. You want him or not?"
I turn back. His eyes are steel. His voice is low. But beneath the command is something else. A father trying to pass down the only thing that matters.
I swallow hard.
"I want him."
"Then take him."
"When?"
"Soon," he says. "The threat's already circling. There are people who want me gone. They'll see him as a crack in the wall. He can't be alone. And he won't trust strangers."
"But he'll trust me?" I ask. "You think he even remembers my name?"
McAllister's eyes glint.
"That's your problem now."
I leave the hospital with rain running down the back of my neck, soaking through everything.
McAllister Knight just gave me the one thing I've wanted for a decade.
The only catch?
I have to wait until he's dead to touch it.
And when Everett finds out?
He'll hate me.
But I'll keep him safe.
Even if it costs me everything else.