Zayn didn't sleep. Humans were fragile—that much he had always known. What unsettled him was how Sterling had managed to conceal this degree of damage while still walking upright.
The human lay unconscious across the bed, breathing too heavily, even for someone who claimed to be "fine." This was the same man who had argued about resting hours ago. Now his body had decided for him.
Zayn could feel it more clearly now, the erratic beat of Sterling's heart, a rhythm that didn't fit this world.
He remained seated in the chair beside the bed, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped. He hadn't meant to stay for so long. He had told himself he would leave once Sterling slept.
Zayn hadn't moved in hours.
The room was too still. Everything was too still. In the dead silence, no city noises bled through the windows. No hum of traffic. Only the sound of Sterling's breathing—shallow, then deep, then catching as if something inside him refused to settle.
Zayn counted the rhythm without meaning to.
It was off.
It wasn't mortal exhaustion. Not poison. Not even a fever. Something else.
His gaze shifted to the human's hands, half-curled in the sheets. There were still some faint but noticeable tremors, like the aftershock of an earlier earthquake.
Sterling hid pain the way others hid weapons—deliberately and with intent. Reckless.
Zayn exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening. He had seen soldiers in worse condition refuse medical care. He had buried some of them.
His eyes flicked toward the tablet he left abandoned on the desk. It was the file. Of course.
"Idiot," he muttered—not unkindly.
He rose at last, crossing the room in silent steps. The dragon in him stirred, a subtle heat coiling under his ribs—not anger.
Instincts
Something had touched his human. And Zayn intended to find out what.
They were not getting out of this unscathed.
***
When the sun had woken up, Sterling too had awakened. His ashen complexion and thinning appearance didn't sit well with Zayn in the slightest. It annoyed him, and Sterling wasn't taking his health seriously enough for his own good, so babysitting him had become Zayn's new objective. Zayn allowed him to stretch and sit up before gently grabbing his wrist. Sterling made a weak attempt at freeing himself, but Zayn's grip didn't falter.
"Your pulse," Zayn told him. This would be easy as long as the human cooperated.
"What about it? You still have to ask," Sterling said groggily as he continued trying to release himself from Zayn's grip. That was currently Impossible for him.
"Stop resisting. Do you want to do it the hard way?" Zayn's tone was final, with no wiggle room.
Sterling didn't reply, glaring daggers at him. Zayn glared back; two could play at one game.
Checking the pulse was important. He didn't check it while the human lay unconscious. "Impolite," the human boy called it. Zayn wasn't "impolite."
Once Sterling had calmed down with his meaningless protests, Zayn loosened his grip around his wrist. He pressed two fingers attentively. The tiny vibrations travelled up Zayn's fingers and danced around his dragon core, which, in almost every case, should have been impossible. It alarmed his body, causing his skin to develop another protective layer unnoticeably. Zayn scoffed; that was ridiculous.
Luca's pulse patterns were Irregular. Beneath it was a second rhythm. It was faint, but Zayn had detected it almost immediately. It wasn't his heartbeat. It was something else. It was foreign.
Zayn didn't overreact, as the human liked to accuse. He didn't speak at all. His gaze hardened as an ancient heat coiled under his ribs, sharp and waiting.
Whatever had touched Sterling didn't have permission to remain. And so, Zayn had to carefully consider the next course of action. The best course of action, to Zayn, is to guarantee Sterling good health and safety.
While maintaining his calm composure to avoid setting off any alarms, Zayn moved closer to Sterling. "Sterling," Zayn said quietly, his voice carrying authority. He didn't let go of his wrist.
Hearing the commanding tone in his voice, Sterling glanced up warily, looking unsure. Zayn stared intently right into his eyes. "You're not going to work today."
Sterling's eyes widened, ready to protest. "What? I—you—"
"That wasn't a suggestion." His grip tightened just slightly, enough to make the point. "You will eat, you will rest, and you're not leaving this residence until I return." His tone was final.
Sterling slumped back against the silky plush pillows; he seemed to be thinking hard. Then, "...From where, director?" Sterling questioned quietly.
He had admitted defeat. Good.
Zayn's silver eyes shifted, something ancient and cold settling behind them. He quickly masked it up—letting his eyes slip meant he needed space. Space away from this persistent human who had plagued a part of him. And he knew that was impossible.
After a long pause, Zayn turned around, clearing his throat. "I am going to find out who believed they had the right to touch what's mine."