O scrubs a hand through his wild gray hair. “Saw the sky go wrong if that’s what you’re asking. Everyone did.”
Jax shifts. “Did you ask Murtaugh?”
O huffs. “Yeah. He’s still pulling his hair out, swearing at equations like a madman.”
“Fucking great,” Jax curses.
“Murtaugh says it wasn’t a regular eclipse,” O continues. “Said some crap about ‘inverted veils’ and ‘peeking through the other side.’ I just filed it away with all the other shit that happens in this hell that nobody understands.” O’s eyes narrow. “That’s why you’re here?”
Jax opens his mouth. “I…” he starts, then stops. “I had an episode.”
O straightens. “What kind of episode?”
Jax shakes his head. “Don’t fucking remember.”
“We were at the hospital,” I say, swallowing. “When the sun was covered by it. The machines started stuttering and then everything just shut down at once. No power.” I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “He turned toward the window like he was being called.”
Jax shakes his head once. “Sisk?—”
“You don’t remember,” I say, not unkindly. I look back at O. “But I do.”
O doesn’t interrupt.
“He looked at me with his red eyes.” I say.
Jax goes very still.
“He wasn’t himself anymore,” I continue.
O exhales slowly through his nose.
“He was hearing something, then he sunk to his knees and said—‘It’s not her fault. Stop.’”
Jax’s head snaps up. “I said that?”
“Yes. I tried to get help,” I say. “But the doors locked. I think you were in pain—real pain. Grinding your teeth. Growling.”
O curses.
“He dragged an exam table across the floor like it weighed nothing. Threw a chair between us when I got too close. Then the sun came back. Power came back. Everything rebooted like nothing happened.”
O leans back against the counter, scrubs a hand down his face. “First time that happened?”
Jax nods. “You would know.”
O opens his eyes slowly. “How the hell would I know?”
“Because I tell you everything,” Jax says. “Everything that matters.”
O watches him then sighs. “What were you doing in a hospital?”
“It was me,” I say. “My leg. We were getting it checked.”
O’s eyes flick down to me. “You good now?” he asks, already moving toward a shelf. He reaches for a glass timer with a slow-moving liquid the color of oil.
“I’m fine. Really. Good as new.”
“Hurt it dancing?”
