Upon returning to the mansion, Bernard and others were met with darkness. The living room was illuminated only by the flickering glow of candles.
Douglas was on the phone.
"What happened?" Bernard asked.
"The electric transformer is out. I'm getting it fixed," Douglas replied, surprised by their early return. His gaze fell on Hera, who was cradled in Bernard's arms.
Samantha started to offer them a place to stay, but Bernard was already turning to leave.
"No need, we're going home," he said firmly.
It was then that Douglas noticed Hera's unusual state. Normally radiant and aloof, she now seemed small and fragile as she clung to Bernard's back. He pushed aside the troubling questions, quickly gathering Tiramisu and snuffing out the candles before heading to the car.
…
Once aboard the plane, Bernard settled Hera into the bedroom.
Her face was a canvas of pallor, her eyes vacant—a stark reminder of the fear that had consumed her.
He summoned the flight attendant for a first aid kit, his deft fingers tending to the scrapes on her hands and knees with practiced care.
"Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" he asked, wiping away the lingering traces of sand with a damp cloth.
Hera shook her head numbly.
Her fragility pierced his heart, a bittersweet ache blooming within him. "Then rest well. We'll be home before you know it."
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