The monitor screamed. "You... are mine," Valentina croaked, throat raw, and her fingers closed on the shirt at the base of Elijah Ziegler's neck. Elijah froze like a man who had been waiting for that exact word. His hand stayed on the bedrail. He did not pull her away. "Valentina," Conrad said, low and controlled, stepping forward with a clipboard he didn't really need. "Don't move. The doctor—" "I don't care about the doctor," Valentina interrupted. "Don't let anyone touch him." Elijah's jaw tightened. "Don't test me," he said. The warning landed like a blade. "You're not in the right state," Conrad said. "You had surgery. Rest. I'm calling Dr. Han." Valentina dragged a laugh that turned into a cough. "I'm not sick. I'm... I just woke up." "Five years earlier," she added, the words sharp and too loud in the private room. Elijah's eyes flicked to her. "What now?" "Don't ask me to explain," Valentina said. "Just—" She searched his face for softness. Found none. "I promise. I will protect you." He let the word hang. He did not smile. He did not say, 'Why would you protect me now?' He looked at her the way a man looks at a knife he is deciding whether to trust. Conrad hovered, fingers on the edge of professionalism and the rest on his worry. "You shouldn't speak. You need to heal. Dr. Han warned—" "He's not