Annie shifted in her chair, watching the nurse as she prepared the syringe. Robert's hand lay still on the blanket, and the sight of it reminded Annie of how fragile their time together felt.

The nurse injected the medication into Robert’s IV line with practiced ease. “You’re doing great,” she said, offering a bright smile. “Just a little more and you’ll be back on your feet.”

Robert nodded, but he looked at Annie, and his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. She leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face to catch his attention.

"Remember our plans?" she prompted, putting confidence into her tone.

He smiled weakly. "Right. Adventure awaits."

The nurse finished and left, closing the door behind her. The quiet wrapped around them like a soft blanket. She thought she could smell the antiseptic, sterile scent in the air, but Annie focused on the presence of Robert rather than the surrounding clinical setting.

"What's first on our list?" he asked, and a playful lilt crept into his tone again.

"How about we start with finding that flying vehicle?" She said, stifling a giggle at the image of them swooping through the skies over the city.

Robert chuckled low and then winced as he shifted his weight on the pillows. "I can just see it now—me, at the controls while you navigate."

"Exactly," she said in a mock serious tone. "Just don't crash us into one of those skyscrapers."

Only if you promise not to freak out." Annie huffed for a moment, but a playful grin lit his face.

Annie huffed as if in indignation. "Me? Never!"

Their light laughter filled the space vividly, contrasting where they were currently standing.

As he joked around with her, light words thrown without true heed, Robert's expression turned somber once again. "Annie, about this curse you found out about.

Her heart raced at his sudden shift in tone; it was as if he had reached through her carefully constructed walls and pulled her secret into view.

“I—” she started but caught herself before revealing too much. Instead, she offered a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter right now.”

“It does matter,” he insisted softly, his gaze unwavering. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

She was divided in her thoughts, playing her options one against the urge to protect him from the fact that gnawed at her guts like some invisible predator.

"It's complicated," Annie replied finally, choosing each word carefully, as if stepping onto thin ice.

Robert furrowed his brow even further. "You know I can handle it."

A silence stretched between them, an unbridgeable gap. Unsaid words clung in the air, binding them together with tenuous tethers, threatening to snap everything they had fought for.

Annie drew on the deepest wells of her mind and psyche for calmness. Robert's eyes never once strayed from hers, bright with an unrelenting purpose that quickened her heart rate. She knew now that things would no longer be the same; there was this tension now—a tension creeping around the edges of this new conversation.

"I know you want to protect me," he said in that low, sure tone, "but whatever it is, I need to hear it."

Annie’s fingers traced the edge of her chair, feeling the rough fabric beneath her fingertips. The truth felt like a live wire; she could either grasp it and risk everything or leave it be and shield them both from the fallout.

“Robert, you’re getting better,” she replied, forcing a lightness into her tone. “That’s what matters right now.”

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His expression darkened slightly, disappointment mingling with concern. “But at what cost? You’re hiding something from me.”

A knot tightened in Annie’s stomach as she struggled to maintain her facade. The urgency of his words clawed at her resolve. She couldn’t bear to watch hope fade from his eyes again.

“Let’s focus on your recovery,” she urged, desperate to steer him away from the dangerous precipice looming before them.

Annie," he pressed, frustration bleeding through into his calm exterior. "I cannot just overlook it."

At that moment, before she had a chance to answer, there was a soft knock on the door of their room, and a nurse peered in, clipboard in hand.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said gently. "Just checking on you two. How are we feeling today?

Robert turned to the nurse, visibly relieved for the distraction but not releasing Annie's words into the air. "Better," he said, forcing a grin as if to reassure them both.

The nurse jotted something down before looking at them curiously. "You have made remarkable progress since starting your treatment." She paused, then added with a wink, "Keep that positive attitude going.

"Thanks," Robert said, though Annie caught how his eyes drifted right back to her once the nurse had stepped out.

"I am serious about this," he said again once they were alone.

"I know." The weight of his stare pinned her to real life.

"Then tell me."

It was a dare, hanging in the air between them, an unspoken promise yet to be fulfilled.

Annie caught his stare and watched the heart pound beneath her rib cage. The challenge he sent her was taking her very near the threshold of spilling all that was covered from his view, in a truth so well wrapped up.

"Robert," she began, finding the words mere inches beyond a whisper.

He leaned near her, expectancy crossing his features. "Just tell me what's going on."

Annie swallowed hard as the walls of her resolve started to crumble. "It's about your illness… It's more than just a disease."

His brow furrowed deeper. "What do you mean?"

"The doctors—they don't know everything." She took an illness... illness... breath and steadied herself against the weight of her confession. "There's an ancient curse tied to your condition."

Robert's expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. "A curse? Are you serious?

"I'd rather I weren't," Annie replied, her words tumbling like lead weights of foreboding. "I found records--ancient manuscripts that speak of how your illness is connected with something far more evil than you could ever imagine."

Robert stared at her, trying to comprehend it like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. "What happens if I get better?

Annie felt the room grow colder, as if shadows flickered at the edges of their reality. “If you’re cured, it records—a hospital knew a por… a portal... to hell.”

He recoiled slightly, his hand instinctively tightening around hers. “You can’t be saying this for real.”

"I am," she insisted, desperate for him to understand the gravity of what lay before them. "That old man in the hospital knew something. He gave me that pendant and gave a hint of this whole thing that was coming our way."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" His voice rose with the mixture of anger and pain.

"I thought I could protect you!" Annie snapped back, frustration boiling over. She shook her head in exasperation, trying to gather her thoughts.

"And how does keeping this from me protect me?" His voice had softened but was firm.

Annie faltered as Robert's disappointment lay thick in the air between them. She was trapped between saying the truth and protecting him from something she herself didn't know.

Because if you knew," she finally said softly, "it might change how you fight this."

Robert let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair; frustration and confusion mingled in him. The machines beeped steadily beside him, reminding them both of their reality.

"Annie…," he started again, but stumbled over the words.

She steeled herself for what he might say next; tension coiled tight in her chest, a spring ready to snap.

Robert ran a hand through his hair, frustration twisting his features. He leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to questions he hadn't asked yet.

ie rocks—unyieldingstood there, her heart weighed heavy with uncertainty. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but the weight of her secret felt like an insurmountable wall between them.

"I can't believe you kept this from me," Robert finally said, his voice low and strained. "We're in this together."

"I know," she said, trying to keep her tone steady. "But I thought if I focused on your recovery—"

"On my recovery?" He turned to her then, his eyes piercing, intense. "Or on keeping me in the dark?"

She swallowed hard, knowing he had every right to be angry. "I didn't want you to feel hopeless," she admitted. "If I told you everything, it might change how you fight.

Hope is built on trust." Robert's words sliced through the air between them. "You should've trusted me enough to share this."

Again, silence enveloped them as Annie searched for words that might ease the tension heavy in the room.

"Why didn't you ask for help?" he pressed, eyes searching hers for answers she wasn't so sure she had.

Annie's breath caught at how alone she had made them both feel in this fight. She'd been so focused on protecting Robert that she hadn't thought about how much they needed each other.

"I thought I could spare you from the burden," she finally said, small under his scrutiny.

His face softened somewhat, digesting her words. "But now we're both carrying it."

It was like the truth hit in waves urocks—unyielding and relentless. They were entangled in this battle, far bigger than either had imagined.