Chapter 3 - Shadows on the West Wing
The second night of Grace’s stay brought a bitter, freezing rain that lashed against the windows of the Callahan mansion like handfuls of gravel. Inside the west wing, the warmth of the fireplace in the twins' room did little to ease the tension that had settled over the estate.
Vincent sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, his eyes dark and restless. He had refused to go to his own quarters, choosing instead to watch over his children as they slept. Beside him, the medical monitors beeped with a slow, steady rhythm, their glowing green screens casting eerie shadows across the room.
Noah’s fever had spiked at midnight.
Dr. Harper had been called to the bedside, her face pale as she adjusted the intravenous medication. She had glanced at Vincent, her silent look telling him everything he dreaded to hear. The experimental flight was scheduled for the following evening, but in this state, Noah would not survive the takeoff.
"He's too weak," Dr. Harper whispered, stepping away from the bed. "His heart rate is elevated, and his oxygen levels are dropping. We might have to cancel the transport, Mr. Callahan."
"No," Vincent said, his voice a cold, flat command. "We do not cancel. We find a way."
"Medicine has limits, Vincent," the doctor said, using his first name for the first time, her voice filled with a heavy, professional sorrow. "I cannot perform miracles."
"I can," a quiet voice said from the doorway.
Grace stood there, wearing a fresh apron, her hair tied back neatly. She carried a small, steaming ceramic bowl and a clean washcloth. She did not look at the doctor; her eyes were fixed entirely on Noah’s flushed face.
"What is that?" Dr. Harper asked, her tone sharp with professional skepticism. "We are dealing with a critical autoimmune response, not a common cold."
"It is a lavender and chamomile compress," Grace said, walking past the doctor to Noah's bedside. "And the bowl contains a broth made from organic elderberry and bone marrow. It will help soothe his throat and ease the inflammation in his chest. My grandmother used it when the flu swept through our town."
"This is absurd," Dr. Harper scoffed, looking at Vincent. "Mr. Callahan, you cannot allow this woman to interfere with clinical protocols. This is highly unscientific."
"Did your science make him laugh this morning, Doctor?" Vincent asked, not looking at her. His eyes were locked on Grace, who had already knelt beside Noah’s bed. She was gently placing the warm, fragrant cloth across the boy’s forehead.
Noah stirred, his small brow furrowing, but as the scent of lavender filled the air, his tense posture began to soften. His breathing, which had been shallow and ragged, slowed into a deeper, more natural rhythm.
"There you go, sweet boy," Grace whispered, her hand gently stroking his dark curls. "The sheriff’s dog is sleeping now. You can sleep too."
"Grace," Vincent said, walking over to stand behind her. "He is burning up."
"I know," she said, her voice steady and calm. "But the fever is just his body fighting. He is strong, Mr. Callahan. He has your blood in his veins. He won't give up easily."
Suddenly, the quiet of the room was shattered by a low, muffled thud from the estate’s perimeter.
Vincent’s hand instinctively reached for the concealed holster beneath his jacket. Beside him, the security radio on his belt crackled to life with Mason’s voice, tight and urgent.
"Boss, we have a breach at the east gate. Three vehicles. They’re heavily armed. It’s Valetti’s men."
Vincent did not hesitate. His face transformed into the ruthless mask of the South Side's most feared boss. He looked down at Grace, who had not stopped comforting Noah despite the alarm.
"Stay with them," Vincent ordered, his voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register. "Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me or Mason."
May you like
"I will protect them," Grace said, her blue eyes shining with an absolute, maternal conviction. "Go do what you have to do."
Vincent turned and stroking Lily's hair once, then stormed out of the room, his gun drawn, ready to unleash the full, terrifying wrath of the Callahan name on anyone who dared to threaten the sanctuary of his children.
