Her stomach turned.
She moved the lamp closer.
The shape moved again.
Rosalie pulled back.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Then she set the lamp down and took a deep breath.
She had grown up watching her father ignore injuries until they became emergencies. She had seen her brother laugh at a broken arm because he believed pain was weakness.
She would not make the same mistake with Gideon.
She wrote in the notebook.
I need to get you to a doctor.
Gideon shook his head violently.
Vane will make it worse.
Rosalie stared at the words.
Why?
He snatched the pencil and began writing, but another wave of pain stopped him.
He gripped her wrist.
Then he pointed to the locked wooden chest beneath his bed.
Rosalie helped him to the bedroom. With trembling fingers, Gideon unlocked the chest and removed a bundle of papers tied with a faded ribbon.
