Elena’s patience snapped. “Enough. What happened—spit it out.”

Another second of Wren’s hesitation, and she felt she might physically shake the answer from him.

“Nicholas’s condition has worsened,” Wren said at last, the words heavy and reluctant. “No matter how much I plead, he refuses further treatment.”

Alarm flashed through Elena’s dark eyes like a storm breaking over open ground.

“I thought he’d stabilized. A relapse—when did this start?”

“Late last night. I wouldn’t have known if the hospital hadn’t called.”

For more than a year, Nicholas’s health had wavered, requiring frequent hospital evaluations—each one arranged only because Elena insisted. Left to himself, he pretended invincible, treating his body like something borrowed and disposable.