Chapter 3 Don't test me

My heels strike the hospital floor with military precision.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

Each step carries me closer to a confrontation I've spent fifteen years avoiding.

The antiseptic smell burns my nostrils. Hospitals always make me think of weakness, of being at the mercy of others. I hate weakness. Even more, I hate that my son is here again, hooked to machines that beep and whir, measuring the slow betrayal of his body.

I turn the corner and stop breathing.

Nasir.

He hasn't seen me yet. He's studying something on his tablet, brow furrowed in concentration just like Koda's when he's coding. Same curls, though Nasir's now threaded with silver at the temples. Same shoulders. Same hands.

My body remembers him before my brain can catch up. A violent, unwelcome rush of heat spreads through my chest. Fifteen years dissolve in an instant.

I force my feet to move. Three more steps and he looks up.

His eyes widen. Just a fraction. Just enough.

"Amelia."

My name in his mouth. The timber of his voice unchanged. Something inside me cracks, a hairline fracture in fifteen years of careful control.

"Mr. Leviné," I manage, my voice cool and professional. A client voice. A stranger voice.

His jaw tightens. "Really? That's how we're doing this?"

Before I can answer, the treatment room door swings open. Koda steps out, headphones around his neck, scrolling through his phone. My beautiful, brilliant boy. Too pale. Too thin. The sight of him steadies me.

"Mom!" His surprise is genuine. "You actually left work before sunset. Is the apocalypse coming?"

His eyes dart between us – quick and analytical – picking up on the tension vibrating in the air. "Uh... is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," I say, too quickly. "How was your appointment?"

"Same drill. Needles, questions, more needles."

Nasir stares at Koda, his lawyer's composure crumbling. I see it happen – the mental arithmetic, the counting backward from Koda's birthday. The realization dawning like a sunrise, slow then all at once.

"Fourteen years," he whispers. "Three months. Two weeks."

Koda looks at him curiously. "Do I know you?"

"No," Nasir says, his voice soft with wonder. "But I'd like to change that."

I step between them, heart hammering. "Koda, go with Vivienne. I'll meet you at the car."

"But–"

"Now, Koda."

Vivienne materializes from around the corner – always there when I need her – and steers a reluctant Koda away. When they're gone, the air feels thick, charged with fifteen years of unspoken words.

"I counted backward from his birthday," Nasir says, voice deceptively calm.

"Nasir–"

"Fourteen years, three months, two weeks." His control slips – flash flood of anger breaking through the dam. "Did you think I wouldn't do the math?"

"This isn't the place."

"When would be convenient for you? Another fifteen years from now?"

His phone buzzes. He glances at it, jaw clenching.

"Karim. Again. My campaign manager thinks I need a family to win." His eyes burn into mine. "How convenient that you've appeared now."

"I didn't appear. Your brother found me."

"Tyler always was good at finding what I wanted." Bitterness laces his words. "So tell me, Amelia, was this the plan? Hide my son for fourteen years, then use him as leverage when you need something?"

"I never planned to see you again."

"And now?"

"Now I need your help." My voice cracks. "Koda needs your help."

A nurse walks past, eyeing us curiously. Nasir guides me to a quiet alcove, his hand hovering near my elbow without touching me. The almost-contact burns worse than actual touch would.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Rare blood condition. Getting worse." I focus on the facts, the clinical details that don't make my chest ache. "The new treatment protocol requires genetic information from both sides of his family."

"And this has nothing to do with my Senate campaign? With Tyler suddenly taking an interest in you?"

"Think what you want about me, Nasir. But DON'T question what I'd do for my son." My voice catches. "*Our* son."

Something shifts in his expression – the first crack in his anger. A glimpse of the man I once knew.

"All these years..." he begins, then stops. His lawyer face slides back into place. "We need to talk. Properly. Not here."

"Fine. When?"

"Tonight. The Meridian Hotel. Seven o'clock."

The name hits me like a physical blow. Marble floors. Blood on my hands. The taste of fear, metallic and sharp.

"Not there." My voice sounds thin, foreign.

"Why not?"

I can't explain what I don't understand myself – flashes of memory, nightmare fragments that don't form a coherent whole.

"Any other hotel," I manage.

He studies my face, cataloging my reaction. "My campaign office, then. Private entrance."

The elevator doors open nearby. Koda peers out, clearly having doubled back.

"Mom? Are you coming?"

"Yes, right now." I turn to leave.

"Amelia," Nasir calls after me. "I want to meet my son. Properly."

"That's not your decision to make."

"Isn't it? Because I'm prepared to make it a legal one if necessary."

I freeze, a cold dread spreading through my stomach. "You wouldn't."

"Fifteen years, Amelia. Don't test me."

His eyes hold no compromise. I recognize the look – it's the same one I see in the mirror when Koda's health is threatened. The look that says there are no limits to what I'll do.

I've created an enemy where once there was... Something I can't let myself remember. Not now. Not when Koda's life depends on what happens next.