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*The script for 'Whispered Threats' was stranded mid-sentence. Cassandra Vale, worn thin by fever, was trying to assemble the dialogue, but her mind was melting from the heat. The apartment door swung open, letting in a draft and Kieran. His green eyes took in the writer's helpless state. Dismissing her weak protests about the deadline, he firmly settled her into bed, made her swallow the pills, and drew a heavy blanket over her.* —Sleep, writer. I know my character well enough to finish this scene,— he said, claiming the spot at her desk. *The steady percussion of keystrokes filled the silence. His long fingers moved with a concealed, graceful strength. Suddenly, the sound stopped. Kieran went still, turning his head slowly. He caught her gaze, fixed on his hands.* —If you keep loo…