Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

Edwin quickly handed the tray over to Sylvia, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. "Hey, why don't you take this up to Rupert? He's been working all morning and hasn't had a bite to eat."

Sylvia glanced at the steaming bowl of soup, realizing she didn't have much choice but to roll with it. "Alright," she nodded, grabbing the tray and heading upstairs.

By the time she reached the door to Rupert's room, her palms were slick with sweat. She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. Just then, a deep voice came from inside.

"Come in, Sylvia."

The tray almost slipped from her grasp. Rupert had always made her feel invisible. How was she supposed to deal with him now? But she was determined. Even if she failed, she had to try.

Taking a deep breath, Sylvia nudged the door open. The room was minimalist, dominated by shades of gray. Soft light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow over Rupert as he lay there, one arm hooked up to an IV. The light softened his sharp features, giving him an unexpectedly approachable look, and Sylvia found herself unable to look away.

Rupert's eyes flicked up to meet hers, pulling her from her reverie. Embarrassed at being caught staring, she quickly averted her gaze and approached the bed.

"I brought you your clothes from Edwin, and Orson asked me to bring you some food while I was at it." She fumbled through the explanation.

Rupert's voice was low and teasing. "Who asked you to explain yourself so quickly?"

Sylvia bit her lip, setting the tray down with a thud.

Rupert's gaze drifted to the items on the tray, his eyes catching the pharmacy

bag. "Skipped seeing Warren to bring me meds, did you?"

"That's not it." Sylvia reached for the bag, but Rupert's hand was quicker.noveldrama

"I'm hungry." He glanced at the soup.

Sylvia offered the bowl. "Here."

Rupert raised his IV-free hand slightly. "I'm a bit tied up here."

She pointed at the spoon. "Use your other hand."

"No strength," he shrugged, giving her a knowing look.

Sylvia understood perfectly well but played along. Leaning in, she smirked, "Rupert, you're not expecting me to feed you, are you? Because if you are, just say the word."

Rupert's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of danger in his gaze.

Knowing he would never admit it, Sylvia stood up, intending to look around. But before she could straighten up, Rupert's hand shot out, pulling her down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Go on then."

His commanding presence left Sylvia momentarily flustered, her eyes wide with surprise. Rupert's expression remained impassive, yet there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Lost your nerve? Don't bite off more than you can chew..."

“Who says I'm afraid?” Sylvia retorted, picking up the bowl and stirring the soup.

She blew on a spoonful before bringing it to his lips.

Rupert didn't move, his eyes catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

"It's not hot anymore," Sylvia assured, shaking the spoon slightly.

Finally, Rupert opened his mouth, accepting the offering. They lapsed into silence, but the way his gaze lingered on her felt different-less icy and tinged with something she couldn't quite decipher.

Despite the stereotype that sick people lose their appetite, Rupert finished every last drop. Sylvia placed the empty bowl aside, seizing the chance to scan the room for any sign of paperwork she might have missed.

5

Suddenly, Rupert began to cough violently. Instinctively, Sylvia reached out, patting his back. "Did you make some honey tea? You always need that when you start coughing like this."

In the next moment, Rupert caught her wrist, pulling her closer. His eyes bored

into hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. "How do you know that? I've never told anyone about it."