Chapter 22
Luna White trembled as she shut the front door, collapsing against the wall. Even wrapped tightly in a quilt, she couldn’t stop shaking. She had pushed herself too hard treating Paul Jackson—his illness had been severe, forcing her to take risks. Now, the cold had seeped into her bones, leaving her nearly frozen.
"Damn it..." Her teeth chattered, her breath visible in the frigid air.
A sudden pounding echoed at the door.
Luna didn’t even bother lifting her head. Who in their right mind would come knocking in this weather?
But the knocking persisted, relentless, as if determined to break the door down.
Gritting her teeth, she dragged herself to the entrance—just as a figure vaulted over the courtyard wall.
"What the—" Anger flared, but then she recognized him.
Andrew Smith.
The man stumbled slightly upon landing, clearly not expecting to be caught. Their eyes met, and the air between them froze.
"Luna?" Andrew rushed inside in three quick strides. "What’s wrong?"
His icy fingers brushed her forehead before jerking back.
"No fever..." he muttered, pressing a hand to his own forehead for comparison.
Luna shrank back. "I’m fine. What do you need, Captain Smith?"
Andrew’s ears reddened at his own forwardness, but the sight of her blue-tinged lips overrode his hesitation. "Do you need a hospital?"
"No." She shook her head, teeth clattering. "Just... cold."
All she wanted was a sip of hot soup. The thought alone nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Andrew frowned. "How long has this been going on?"
"J-just started..." Her voice trembled uncontrollably.
Without another word, he turned and left. Burying her face in the quilt, Luna longed for the warmth of her siblings. If they were here, they’d hold her close...
Footsteps returned.
"Drink this." Andrew crouched beside her, holding a steaming bowl.
She looked up as warmth enveloped her face. Her hands shook too much to hold the bowl, so he steadied it for her. The ginger-infused syrup slid down her throat, spreading heat through her limbs.
"Mmm..." She sighed like a contented cat.
A faint smile touched Andrew’s eyes. He pulled a hot water bottle from his coat and tucked it into her arms, carefully adjusting the quilt before heading to the kitchen.
Luna drifted off, cradling the warmth. When she awoke, the house smelled heavenly.
"Awake?" Aunt Laura entered with a bowl of noodles. "Eat while it’s hot."
Clara Clark followed, eyes red-rimmed. "This is my fault... I shouldn’t have let you exhaust yourself."
Luna stared at the two poached eggs floating in the broth. "This is too much—"
"Eat!" Clara scowled. "Compared to my brother’s life, what’s a couple of eggs?"
Aunt Laura chuckled. "Her hens lay plenty, don’t worry."
The three laughed together. Luna took small bites, warmth slowly returning to her body. Outside, the clatter of tools echoed—Andrew and his men were repairing her house.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled patterns on the floor.