Page 6 of Eclipse Born

“Drink,” Sterling instructed. Not a request. Another test.

I picked up the glass, noting the slight tremor in my hand. My body still remembering trauma my mind couldn't fully access. I swallowed the whiskey in one motion, the burn welcome, clarifying. Human.

Sterling watched me, noting the normal reaction, the absence of any supernatural rejection of the alcohol. He nodded once, seemingly satisfied, and took a drink from his own glass.

“You look like hell,” he observed finally.

“I may have been there,” I replied, the attempt at humor falling flat, too close to potential truth.

Sterling didn't smile. “We thought so. Sean spent months trying to figure out how to open that gate again. How to get to you.”

The simple statement landed with weight, implications expanding outward. Sean had tried to reach me. Had believed Hell was where I'd gone. Had been willing to enter that nightmare himself to bring me back.

The knowledge should have brought emotion, gratitude, or something. But the hollow space inside me registered only none.

“I need to see him,” I said.

Sterling's expression hardened. “No. Not yet.”

“He deserves to know I'm back,” I argued, my voice remaining level despite the disagreement.

“He deserves to not have his heart ripped out twice,” Sterling countered, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “You have no damn idea what he went through. What it did to him when you disappeared.”

Sterling moved to the window, looking out at the suburban street beyond, his profile silhouetted against the morning light. For a moment, I glimpsed something beneath the gruff exterior, genuine care, protectiveness toward Sean that went beyond professional concern.

“He nearly killed himself trying to find a way to get you back,” Sterling continued, voice rougher. “I had to physically restrain him when he found a ritual that might have opened the gate. Would have opened it directly into a nest of greater demons, but he didn't care.”

I absorbed this, fitting it into my understanding of the Sean I'd known. Reckless when emotionally involved. Willing to sacrifice himself for others. It tracked with established patterns.

“He's stabilized now,” Sterling added. “Still hunting, still searching, but the immediate self-destructive phase has passed. If you show up looking like...” He gestured vaguely at mydisheveled appearance, the hollow eyes, the too-thin frame. “Like that. Like something that crawled out of the pit but isn't fully back. It'll break him all over again.”

Sterling was protecting Sean. From me. The realization landed with unexpected weight, triggering something that might have been hurt in the emptiness where emotions should live.

“What do you suggest?” I asked finally.

Sterling assessed me again, professional detachment returning. “You need rest. Food. Proper clothes. Time to get your head straight, figure out what you remember, what you don't. Then we approach Sean together, prepared.”

It was logical. A plan that minimized potential psychological damage while maximizing information gathering. I would have suggested something similar if our positions were reversed.

“One day,” I agreed. “To prepare. Then we contact him.”

Sterling nodded slowly, decision made. “One day. But I reserve the right to change that assessment if you start remembering things that suggest you shouldn't be around him at all.”

The implication was clear. If whatever had happened to me in the demon gate had fundamentally changed me, made me dangerous to others, to Sean specifically, Sterling would intervene. Would protect Sean, even from me if necessary.

I respected that. Would have expected nothing less.

“Agreed,” I said simply.

Sterling seemed surprised by the easy acquiescence, then nodded again, reaching some internal conclusion. “Alright then. Let's get you cleaned up. You look like something that died and came back wrong.”

The assessment was probably more accurate than Sterling realized.

Sterling led me upstairs with the caution of a man escorting someone he wasn't sure he could trust. He maintainedawareness of exits, of potential weapons, of tactical positioning. Never directly in front of me, never with his back fully turned. Old habits ingrained by decades of survival in a world where anything could be a monster in disguise.

The guest room was spartan but comfortable. A double bed with plain navy sheets. A dresser of solid oak. A nightstand with a lamp and a well-worn paperback, Fleming's “Casino Royale,” Sterling's favorite. A window overlooking the backyard, with its carefully maintained garden that hid protective sigils within the planting patterns.

“Bathroom's across the hall,” Sterling said, opening the dresser drawer. “Should be clothes that fit. Might be a bit big, you've lost weight.”

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