Falcon reached the physician's wing without slowing once.
He pushed through the doors and laid Isabella gently on the examination bed. Only then did he allow himself to step back.
The doctor was already moving. She didn't ask questions. Years inside the Montgomery estate had trained her well—see first, speak later.
She checked Isabella's pulse. Her breathing. The dilation of her pupils. The tremor in her fingers.
Falcon stood a few feet away, silent, blood drying at his temple, his shirt still marked by Isabella's grip.
After a long moment, the doctor exhaled.
"She's fainted from shock," she said calmly. "No severe injuries. Her body simply shut down to cope. With rest, she'll regain consciousness."
Falcon gave a single nod.
Relief did not show on his face—but it shifted something in his eyes.
The doctor's gaze lifted slowly to him.
"My, Mr. Falcon… you don't look quite as steady yourself."
