CHAPTER 421: GESTURES

The shrill sound of Athena’s alarm broke through the quiet hum of the lab.

She blinked, disoriented, and for a moment thought it couldn’t possibly be morning yet. But the digits on her phone confirmed it—5:30 a.m.

Already?

Her back ached when she straightened from the stool she had been hunched over, her fingers brushing across the scattered notes she had filled through the night. Charts, calculations, scribbled hypotheses—all the restless markings of a mind reluctant to yield.

She let her gaze sweep over them, and a flicker of relief warmed her chest. She was closer to a cure today than she had been yesterday, and that was enough. Progress, no matter how slow, was still progress.

She pressed her hand to the base of her neck, rolling the stiffness out. Less tired than before, though a dull pain lingered behind her eyes and along her spine. It was the kind of ache that came from pushing too long, too hard, but she brushed it off.

With deliberate slowness, she pushed away from the desk, stepping out of the heavy atmosphere of chemicals and into the adjoining kitchen.

The sound of running water grounded her as she washed her hands, the coolness offering temporary comfort. She splashed a little on her face, dabbing away the thin sheen of fatigue.

For a second, she simply stood there, leaning her weight against the counter, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. She had been working since she left Ewan in the sitting room hours ago. Was he still waiting?

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as memories of the previous day spilled back. At least her secretary and the woman’s family were safe—that was one victory she could claim. As for the evil twins, they would face their reckoning in time.

However, her thoughts snagged painfully on the image of Cairo, the child who hadn’t deserved any of it. For her, the pity was sharp and unbearable.

She rinsed her mouth, swallowed a tablet of her daily medicine, then shuffled through her papers, selecting a handful of crucial notes to tuck into her bag. She promised herself she’d rest once she got home, at least a few hours before the evening’s party. Her grandmother would notice if she appeared worn down, and Athena had no desire to spark alarm or suspicion.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She grimaced. Antonio. Again.

Another apology text, long-winded, no doubt drenched in guilt. It was the reason she had silenced her phone during the night—the barrage of messages had been unrelenting. With weary resignation, she dialed his number.

He answered instantly, his voice thick with remorse, spilling out words as though the faster he spoke, the more sincere they would sound.

"I’m sorry Athena... I wasn’t thinking...."

Athena pinched the bridge of her nose, listening, offering little in return but quiet acknowledgments.

In the end, she accepted the apology. What else could she do? Holding onto resentment was another weight she didn’t need right now.

She returned to the sitting room, expecting emptiness. Instead, her chest tightened.

Ewan was still there.

He was slumped in the same sofa he had occupied the night before, his tall frame folded into an awkward position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. His head tilted back against the cushions, strands of hair falling over his forehead, his arms loosely crossed.

Her eyes softened, conflicted emotions rising within her chest. He had stayed, even when he could have gone home, even when she hadn’t asked him to. A quiet part of her warmed at that thought, while another part clenched with guilt.

She moved closer, taking in the sight of the cleared room—the dishes from their meal gone, the debris tidied away.

Without meaning to, she lingered, her gaze tracing the faint lines of exhaustion on his face, the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

Why does this make my heart feel heavier than all the work I’ve done tonight?

She reached out and tapped his shoulder gently. "Ewan."

He startled awake, eyes flicking open with sharp alertness before softening when they found her. He ruffled his hair with one hand, straightening quickly, trying to mask the discomfort in his joints as he stood.

"Are you done?" His voice was rough with sleep but steady.

Athena nodded.

"Then let’s go home."

Her breath hitched at the word home. Something about the way he said it—quiet, steady, unassuming—lodged itself in her chest. Before she could form a reply, Ewan was already picking up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder with ease. She didn’t protest, too shaken by the simple finality of the gesture.

"You need to sleep when we get back," he said once they were in the car. His tone wasn’t commanding, but it carried a weight that made refusal impossible.

She gave a small nod only, accepting silence with both hands.

They drove in silence for a while, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Athena leaned her head against the window, trying to focus on the promise of rest.

Then Ewan’s voice cut through the haze. "Isn’t that Antonio’s car?"

Athena’s eyes snapped open. And she saw the car in question parked by the gate to her home. The sight drained what little energy she had left, replacing it with weariness.

Hadn’t they already spoken? Wasn’t the apology enough?

She sighed before she could help it. What was he doing here so early in the morning?

Before she could answer her companion however, Ewan pulled the car to a slow stop. He glanced at her, something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Take the wheel," he said suddenly.

She blinked, startled. "What?"

"I’ll walk." He was already unbuckling his seatbelt, his movements quick, determined. "Take care of yourself. Get some rest."

Athena’s hand shot out as though to stop him, but he was already out of the car, closing the door with quiet finality. She watched as he started down the street toward the junction, his tall frame swallowed gradually by the fading night.

When she finally adjusted herself into his seat, she gripped the steering wheel tight, having no words, no strength to call him back, understanding what he had done.