The first patient Yannis saw the following morning was Lara.
A small procession followed him down the corridor—his attendant, two nurses and a resident doctor hovering close behind, careful not to crowd him, careful not to waste his time. Everyone in the hospital knew his hours were measured in fortunes.
Lara, unaware of any of it, had been awake for nearly an hour.
Her body felt stiff, foreign, as though it had forgotten its own language. She needed movement—something to remind herself she was still whole. From the salvaged remains of her luggage, she'd found a pair of leggings and a fitted tank top. On her frame now, the fabric no longer clung. It hung loosely, exposing just how much weight she'd lost.
Facing the window, she moved through the Five Animal Play, slow and deliberate—tiger, deer, bear, monkey, and crane. Each transition was smooth and controlled. Soft forest sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves drifted from her phone, grounding her breath, steadying her pulse.
This was the scene that greeted Yannis when the door opened.
He stopped short.
For a moment, he forgot the nurses behind him. Forgot the resident shifting anxiously at his shoulder. He simply watched.
Yannis knew Lara well. He had treated her injuries more than once—bruises, fractures, the kind that came from living aggressively, recklessly. He knew her preference for high-intensity training, had seen her sparring in kickboxing rings, all sharp angles and explosive power.
This... this quiet grace was new.
Even diminished, her presence filled the room. Her movements were controlled, almost ceremonial, as if she were performing a ritual rather than exercising. There was discipline in every breath.
They stood there longer than they should have.
Nearly ten minutes passed before the resident doctor cleared his throat. Yannis' time was gold and not something one wasted lightly.
Finally, the moment broke.
Lara turned.
Surprise flickered across her face as she registered the small crowd by the door. Her brow furrowed. Had her awareness dulled that much? She hadn't sensed anyone enter.
She paused the music.
Yannis stepped forward.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
His eyes moved over her with clinical precision, noting the pallor of her skin, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the faint flush left behind by exertion.
Lara studied him in return, then glanced down at the name badge clipped to his coat.
"I feel lightheaded sometimes," she said calmly. "I get headaches. And there's a general weakness. Like my body hasn't caught up with me yet."
Yannis gestured to the couch.
She sat.
The motion was unhurried, composed—her back straight, chin lifted, hands folded neatly in her lap. The posture was instinctive, almost regal, as though she was accustomed to it.
Yannis took the chair opposite her. The others remained standing.
He met Lara's gaze and held it, searching for something—anything. A flicker of recognition. A reflexive warmth. The faintest shadow of familiarity.
But there was nothing.
She looked at him the way one looks at a stranger: attentive, polite, distant.
The attendant lifted a device and began recording.
Lara's eyes snapped to her, sharp enough to make the woman's hands tremble. She took an involuntary step back.
"It's all right," Yannis said smoothly. "I asked her to record today's session." He met Lara's gaze again. "I'm your neurosurgeon. And your psychiatrist."
"A neuropsychiatrist," Lara uttered involuntarily.
Her attention returned fully to him.
Up close, he didn't look like an Azuverdan. He must be a mixed breed—ash-blond hair, deep-set eyes, irises the same muted gray as his hair. He looked observant and controlled. Lara sensed that he was dangerous in the way only intelligent men could be.
Perfect! Lara thought.
She'd been considering asking for a neuropsychiatrist.
And it seemed one had already found her.
Yannis leaned back slightly, adopting a relaxed posture. "What do you remember after you woke up?"
Lara held his gaze for several seconds.
She was weighing him. Measuring risk. Deciding how much truth could be afforded—and what truth even meant anymore.
"I remember nothing of my past," she said at last. "Not even my name. They told me it's Larissa Reyes."
"But you also said you are Lara Norse Kromwel."
"Yes." Her voice didn't waver. "That's in my head. But it could be from a dream. Something I imagined while I was comatose."
She chose not to mention Azurverda.
Not the palaces. Not the bloodlines. Not the centuries of memory that sat too vividly in her mind to be hallucinations.
That truth was hers alone—for now.
"And this dream," Yannis said carefully. "Can you tell me about it?"
Lara glanced toward the nurse again, her lips parting as if to issue a command—then stopped.
The woman was not dressed as a palace servant but in a white uniform. No bowed head. No deference.
Reality reasserted itself.
She swallowed the words and stood instead, walking toward the side table where bottled water waited. Her movements were unhurried, her posture immaculate.
"Where are you going?" the resident doctor asked, incredulous.
How dare she let Doctor Fenn wait?
Lara turned and looked at him.
"I'm thirsty," she said evenly. "I'm getting water."
The resident doctor opened his mouth to reprimand her, but Yannis raised a hand.
"Let her."
His eyes followed Lara with keen interest.
When she returned to the couch, Yannis was already making notes on his tablet.
"In my dream," Lara said, settling back into her seat, "I was betrothed to an unfavored prince. But later he became emperor."
A quiet snicker rippled through the room.
It died instantly when Lara looked up.
The air turned cold.
"And you," Yannis prompted gently, "were…the empress?"
"Yes, the empress," Lara said. "Lara Norse Kromwel."
She nodded once, as if affirming a fact rather than indulging a fantasy. "But it didn't feel like a dream. The memories are too vivid. Too detailed. Dreams don't leave scars."
"Hm." Yannis continued typing. "I'll order another scan."
"I was told I could be discharged today."
"I don't think that would be wise." He didn't look up. "You'll need clearance from your other attending physicians."
Lara exhaled slowly. Something flickered across her face—disappointment, perhaps. Or calculation.
"How many attending physicians did I have?"
"Four, including me and the resident doctor," Yannis replied.
Lara nodded. There were only four. She should be able to get the clearance before the end of the day.
"Miss Reyes," Yannis said, finally lifting his eyes. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"
She studied him. "Why do you ask?"
The resident doctor frowned at the question. The audacity.
"I'm invested in your condition," Yannis replied evenly. "If you don't have accommodations, a friend of mine is leaving the country. She needs someone to look after her condominium. It's within walking distance of the hospital."
Lara raised an eyebrow.
Another offer. Another carefully placed option.
"What's the catch?" she asked.
The question was deceptively simple.
Yannis folded his hands, choosing his words with deliberate care. "There isn't one. The rent is free. You'll cover utilities and food." A brief pause. "And you'll come in for a follow-up every week."
Lara leaned back in her chair, eyes never leaving his face. He was composed—too composed. Like someone reciting terms he'd already rehearsed.
"Free housing from a man I just met?" she said. "You're right. Nothing suspicious about that."
A corner of his mouth twitched, but the smile never reached his eyes. She was still the woman he knew. "You're free to refuse."
Lara leaned back, studying him as if he were a puzzle she hadn't yet decided to solve. She watched him for a moment longer, weighing the offer—and the silence behind it.
"What game are you playing, Doctor?"
Yannis didn't answer right away. Instead, he handed her the tablet.
Lara's breath caught.
The display showed photos from an accident, when she was operated on, and during her coma.
She scrolled down to see a summary of a case study.
It was her.
Yannis' voice was calm when he finally spoke.
"That," he said, "is why I'm invested."