BENEATH HIS SHADOW, SHE RECLAIMED HER CROWN

The single incandescent bulb overhead flickered, casting grim yellow shadows across the cramped concrete shed. Alexander leaned against a metal workbench, his breathing shallow and rattling.

Elena dropped the crowbar and fell to her knees beside him. ""You're hit. Oh God, Alexander, you're bleeding to death.""

""Graze... mostly,"" Alexander grunted, gritting his teeth as he tore open his dress shirt. The bullet had ripped a nasty trench along his lower ribs, exposing torn flesh that wept crimson. ""First aid kit... green box on the wall.""

Elena scrambled across the floor, retrieved the metal box, and threw it open on the workbench. Inside were basic bandages, iodine, a surgical needle, and coarse nylon suture thread. Her hands shook uncontrollably.

""I can't do this,"" she stammered, looking at the gaping wound. ""I'm not a doctor. I've never even sewn a hem, let alone skin!""

Alexander reached up, his blood-stained hand gripping the nape of her neck, pulling her face inches from his. His brown eyes were feverish but hypnotic with raw determination.

""Look at me, Elena,"" he ordered, his voice steadying her fraying nerves. ""You spent four years believing Julian’s lies. You believed you were weak, fragile, worthless without his approval. It was all poison.""

Tears spilled down her cheeks, washing away dirt and smeared mascara.

""You survived your father's death,"" Alexander whispered, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. ""You survived the streets. You can stitch a wound. Do it.""

Something inside Elena snapped—a fragile dam breaking to reveal a dormant reservoir of pure steel. She wiped her face with her shoulder, grabbed the bottle of antiseptic, and poured it directly onto his wound. Alexander hissed through clenched teeth, his muscles locking into iron ropes, but he didn't cry out.

With trembling fingers that grew steadier with every stitch, Elena drove the needle through his flesh. She pulled the thread tight, tying surgical knots just as she remembered seeing in emergency pamphlets. Stitch by stitch, she closed the tear, bandaging his torso firmly with clean gauze.

When she finished, she sank back against the cold concrete floor, covered in his blood, exhausted to her marrow.

Alexander exhaled a ragged breath, leaning his head back against the wall. A slow, faint smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

""Not bad, little bird,"" he murmured.

""Don't call me that,"" she muttered, staring at her bloodied hands.

""Fine. Partner, then."" Alexander reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag he had recovered from one of the dead hitmen outside. Inside lay a familiar, scratched silver trinket.

""My locket,"" Elena gasped.