Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

When the last drop of liquid vanished from the syringe into the IV tube, the doctor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction—a little too much, like he'd just pulled off a clever trick.

But before he could even turn around to bask in his victory, his expression twisted in shock. Just like that, his knees buckled-he crumpled to the linoleum floor in a heap, as powerless as a toy with dead batteries.

As the doctor hit the ground, the man standing behind him stepped into the light.noveldrama

He was handsome, but something in his gaze hinted at danger, like a wolf in a tailored suit.

Rupert wiped his hands on a napkin. "Take him outside," he said, his voice steady.

With barely a grunt, Orson stepped forward and dragged the unconscious doctor away with one hand, as if hauling out the trash after a Fourth of July barbecue.

Suddenly, the room was silent-eerily so.

Rupert sat on the edge of the hospital bed and gently peeled off the medical tape from the back of Sylvia's hand. Underneath, the IV needle hadn't even pierced her skin-it was all a sleight of hand.

He ran his thumb over her pale, quiet hand, his eyes lingering on her peaceful face. His stare was intense, emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Then, he looked away, letting his lashes shadow whatever he was feeling.

Still, he held her hand tighter.

Minutes passed in stillness, until Rupert's phone buzzed. Only then did he finally stand and leave the room.

He knocked and stepped into Chris's office.

Chris sat by the window, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. When he saw Rupert, he forced a tired smile.

"Sorry, man. If it wasn't for Caleb, none of this mess would've happened. I'm sorting things out-sending him out of the country."

Rupert took a cigarette, lit it, and tossed the pack onto the windowsill. His voice was cold: "You sure he'll go?"

Chris hesitated, biting down on his filter. He looked defeated. Caleb had already trashed his room that morning, refusing to cooperate.

But as an older brother, Chris couldn't just watch Caleb get used by someone like Bridget.

He dropped the tough guy act, pleading, "Rupert, please. Just one last time, alright? I'm begging you."

Smoke curled between them as Rupert glanced over. "One last time."

Chris let out a long, shaky breath of relief.

He stubbed out his cigarette and handed Rupert a piece of paper. "Take a look. Recognize this?"

Rupert scanned it-a string of numbers and a phrase:

12252050, Red House.

"What's this supposed to mean?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"It's something Sylvia kept

mumbling. called a buddy of mine, he's a therapist. Said it sounds like some kind of post-hypnotic

suggestion. Could be the kinet

real Randora's box. But my friend wouldn't say more-doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

"She's never had therapy," Rupert said, absolutely certain.

"I checked. Nothing in her files. Figured maybe you'd know what it meant."

Chris left the note on the desk.

Rupert stared at the numbers, then remembered something from earlier—a timestamp Freya had mentioned in a recording: Christmas last year.

Suddenly, it clicked.

He grabbed a pen from Chris's pocket and split up the numbers.

Chris's eyes went wide. "December 25th, 8:50 PM, Red House! Christmas night!

Did something happen to her last Christmas?"

"No," Rupert said instantly.

"At least check, won't you?" Chris pressed.

"I know."

Rupert's answer was blunt, almost too quick.

Chris blinked, then realized what he meant. "You little creep. Just how long have you been spying on her-?"

"Enough," Rupert cut him off.

Chris's joke didn't break the tension-if anything, Rupert's mood darkened.

"Chris,” Rupert asked, "did your friend say when this kind of suggestion might have started?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. Judging by Sylvia's episodes, it hasn't been

long maybe a year or so.

puts it right before last Ch

He paused. "Wait, that doesn't line up. Unless it's this year? But Christmas is still

over a month away. She's not psychic, is she?"

Chris looked at Rupert, a little spooked.

"Don't let anyone else find out about this," Rupert murmured, finishing his cigarette and crushing it out. "Not even

via. Tonight, I'm crashing in your office."