Chapter30

Natalie's days after her dramatic meltdown on the terrace were like a fever dream that she couldn't quite remember. Her next conscious memory was of waking up in a dimly lit room with her arms firmly wrapped and the cloying aroma of antiseptics in the air. A whispered voice brought her attention to the figure seated beside the bed: a slim, serious-looking man with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning gray hair. He looked at her with clinical detachment, which sent a shiver down her spine. "Ah, welcome back to the land of the coherent, Miss Dennison," he murmured in a smooth, sinisterly detached tone. "You had us quite concerned there for a spell." Natalie blinked slowly, images of the wrecked patio and searing pain returning in fragmented spurts. A wild giggle crept up her throat before she could control it. "How courteous of you to be concerned for my well-being, sir," she rasped in a terrible imitation of a refined tone. "Although I imagine keeping the master's playthings functional is