Sallie's POV
My hands trembled as I yanked my clothes back on, pulse hammering against my ribs. Old habits died hard—I'd instinctively locked the door, muscle memory from St. Chaim's kicking in.
Kevin and Webster had discovered the door wouldn't give, which explained why their polite knocks had escalated into aggressive pounding.
I smoothed down my hair and pulled the door open to find both brothers standing like stone sentinels in the hallway, faces carved from granite.
Webster's eyes narrowed when he saw me. "What the hell took you so long? I've been pounding on this door forever."
The word "nothing" almost slipped out automatically. Instead, I stepped aside with calculated composure. "If Mr. Noah is so worried, why don't you come in and conduct a full inspection?"
The open medicine bottle still sat on my bed. For a split second, I wondered if he'd notice it—maybe even ask if I was still in pain.
