The doctor ignores me completely. “Well,” he says, flipping the chart closed. “With her sister’s history…”
Jax stiffens, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “She’s not her sister,” he growls.
“Hello?” I snap, louder this time. “Still in the room, by the way.”
They both pause, then it’s like I never spoke.
“You’d see it,” Jax pushes. “You always say there’s a look?—”
Daniel’s expression doesn’t change, but I notice the grudging acknowledgment. “She’s not showing the signs of Ashlyron addiction,” he admits reluctantly. “No tremor or delay. Her pupils aren’t blown. And there’s no shadowing of the gums.”
“But?” Jax says.
“I don’t believe in miracles,” his father finishes, his tone final. His gaze sharpens, turning from me to his son with sudden focus. “But I do believe in consequences.”
Jax goes perfectly still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means,” Daniel says. “The tar doesn’t give gifts, Jaxwell. It takes payment. What did you do this time? What did you promise to make this happen?”
I can’t believe what they’re saying.Of course. How stupid of me.Of course Jax did something. Nobody heals this fast—I might be the dumbest girl alive, to overlook this whole thing and call it what, a miracle?Stupid dumb girl.And Jax acted like he had no fucking idea.I’m going to kill him.
“I didn’t fucking do anything,” Jax snaps, but there’s a tremor in his voice that gives him away.
“Don’t lie to me,” Daniel steps closer, his presence suddenly oppressive. “I’ve spent my entire life cleaning up this family’s messes. I know the look of it. The wrongness of it. This has your fingerprints all over it.”
“It’s not like that,” Jax insists, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “I wouldn’t?—”
“Wouldn’t you?” his father cuts in. “You’ve never been able to resist. Is that what she is? Another broken thing you’re trying to glue back together with stolen power?”
I don’t speak because I know Jax will deny this till forever. I need to get him talking, but asking point blank won’t do. As usual, it’s always a stupid game with him.
“You don’t know anything about it,” Jax growls, his whole body vibrating with tension.
“I know enough,” Daniel says, turning away with a dismissive wave. “I know that when the tar is involved, someone always pays the price. I just hope you’re the one writing the check this time, and not her.”
Daniel stands, already done with the conversation. "You take care, Sisk. Come back if anything changes. The nurse will be by in a few minutes to have that brace removed and check the incision site. She'll want to document the... accelerated healing." He exits without waiting for a response.
Eventually, I swing my legs over the edge of the examination table. Everything in me is screaming to take his head off for acting like an innocent fucker, for standing there like he didn't just unleash some dark magic inside me. But I force my hands to unclench in my lap. He'll just deny it, flash that disarming smirk and tell me to “ask him again when the new question of the day is clear,” the condescending prick. I have to play this differently. Let him think I'm letting it slide, that I'm just a grateful, slightly dazed patient who got impossibly lucky. Step two: gethim comfortable, get him talking. Jax always gets cocky when he thinks he's in control. I'll just have to let him believe he is.
“So…” I say, arranging my features into a mask of weary relief. “Guess I can go home now.”
Jax’s head lifts, and for a moment, I see the raw fear he’s been hiding beneath the gruff exterior. “Or you could stay.” His eyes are soft, pleading. “I mean,” he adds quickly, “One more day. Or two. Just to be safe.”
Before I can answer—before either of us can say anything else—the light shifts. We both turn to the window instinctively.
Outside, the daylight doesn’t just fade, it’s devoured. One moment, it’s a normal afternoon. The next, the sky is a black void. The eclipse swallows the sun whole.
The machines in the room stutter, their rhythmic beeps increasing slowly. The overhead lights flicker then surrender to darkness. A monitor on the wall lets out a piercing whine that cuts off with a final pop.
Jax is at my side in an instant, his body positioned slightly in front of mine, but he’s trembling.
“What’s happening?” The question is a choked whisper.
Jax turns to me and his irises are blood-red—brighter than I've ever seen them be.
“Jax?”
He doesn't respond, his neck tendons taut as he fights to hold something in. Jax turns toward the window, his whole body coiling like he’s being summoned by something in that unnatural darkness.
