Authors (pov)
Their place wasn't loud or obvious like people imagined. It was controlled. Quiet. Secure. The kind of place where nothing happened unless they allowed it.
By the time they reached, Jay was barely conscious. Not fully gone—but close enough that her eyes stayed half-closed, her breathing uneven, her body too tired to keep fighting anymore.
The second Alex stopped beside her, he noticed the way her foot barely tried touching the ground.
"Don't."
His voice was low. Firm.
Before she could force herself to move again, he slid one arm carefully under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her effortlessly against him.
Bridal style.
Careful.
Protective.
Like even the floor wasn't allowed to hurt her anymore.
Jay made the faintest strained sound at the movement, her brows pulling together weakly as her fingers instinctively curled into the front of his shirt.
Alex adjusted his hold immediately.
"I know," he muttered quietly.
He carried her the entire way without letting a single part of her weight shift wrong. Her head rested weakly near his shoulder, exhaustion pulling at her harder with every second.
And no one told him to put her down.
Because the moment they saw how little strength she had left—
they understood.
Daniel stayed close beside them while Luna walked on the other side, one hand lightly resting near Jay's arm like she was making sure she stayed there.
Cora had already cleared the room before they even entered.
Everything was ready before it needed to be.
Alex lowered her carefully onto the bed, supporting the back of her head so she wouldn't hit the mattress too hard. Even after setting her down, his hand stayed there for a second longer.
Jay's breathing trembled unevenly.
Her eyes remained closed.
"Jay."
Luna moved beside her first, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face gently. "Open your eyes for me."
For a moment—
nothing happened.
Then slowly, barely, Jay's eyes opened halfway.
Unfocused.
Heavy.
Tired enough that it looked painful just keeping them open.
Daniel exhaled quietly. "There you are."
"You with us?" Cora asked softly.
Jay gave the smallest movement of her head.
Almost nothing.
But enough.
Alex watched her closely, his expression tightening slightly at how weak she looked.
"Stay awake a little longer," he said quietly. "Doctor's coming."
Her eyes fluttered again.
Trying to stay open.
Failing.
Luna lightly squeezed her hand. "Hey. Don't do that."
Jay reacted faintly to her voice, but her eyes still started slipping shut again.
"Jay."
This time it was Daniel.
Softer than before.
Slowly—
she opened them again.
And somehow that made the room feel worse.
Because she was trying.
Even now.
"It's okay," Cora said calmly, resting a hand near her shoulder. "You don't have to talk."
Jay swallowed weakly. One hand shifted slightly toward her stomach before stopping halfway there, her breathing catching unevenly.
Alex noticed immediately.
His voice lowered. "Easy."
The room quieted after that.
Not silent—
careful.
Every movement softer.
Every voice lower.
Until the doctor arrived.
He entered fast.
One look at Jay—
and his expression changed immediately.
"Move back," he said calmly, already stepping toward her.
They did.
Barely.
Not one of them actually left.
The doctor checked her pulse first, then her breathing, his movements quick but controlled. Jay stirred faintly under his touch, her face tightening slightly as the pain registered again.
A small strained sound escaped her before she could stop it.
Luna's hand tightened instinctively at her side.
"How long has she been like this?" the doctor asked.
"Not long," Alex answered immediately.
"Too long," Luna corrected quietly.
The doctor didn't comment.
He was already examining the injury.
The second he carefully lifted part of the fabric near her stomach—
his expression shifted.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
"These stitches," he said sharply, "who did them?"
Silence followed immediately.
Because none of them had.
Daniel answered first. "She was already like that."
The doctor exhaled slowly through his nose before looking back down.
"They've reopened," he said. "And not just slightly."
The room stilled.
Jay reacted weakly when he pressed carefully near the area, her body tensing instinctively despite how exhausted she was.
"What kind of damage are we talking about?" Alex asked, voice lower now.
The doctor checked again carefully before straightening slightly.
"There's swelling," he said. "A lot more than there should be."
Cora frowned faintly. "From what?"
The doctor glanced at Jay again before answering.
"Strain," he said calmly. "These stitches weren't recent. They were already healing before tonight."
That shifted the room instantly.
Daniel frowned. "Meaning?"
The doctor looked between them.
"This injury happened before today," he said. "Possibly days ago."
Silence.
Heavy this time.
Luna stared at Jay quietly. "She never told anyone…"
"No," Alex said flatly.
"She never does," Cora added softly.
The doctor continued carefully checking the reopened area.
"This wasn't minor either," he said. "The stitching goes deeper than surface level."
Daniel's jaw tightened immediately.
"How deep?"
"Deep enough to require layered closure," the doctor replied calmly. "Muscle damage. Not just skin."
That landed hard.
Daniel let out a quiet breath under his nose while Luna looked away briefly, trying to steady herself.
"And she was still walking around?" Daniel muttered.
"She shouldn't have been," the doctor answered plainly.
Alex stayed silent for a second before asking,
"Can she recover from this properly?"
The doctor nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "But only if she actually rests this time."
A humorless breath escaped Daniel. "Yeah. Good luck with that."
For the briefest second, something almost like amusement crossed Luna's face.
Almost.
Then it disappeared again as she looked back at Jay lying there—completely exhausted, finally too tired to keep pretending she was okay.
And that was the part none of them could ignore anymore.
This didn't start tonight.
This wasn't sudden.
She had been carrying this alone—
hurting alone—
for longer than any of them realized.
And now—
they had seen it too clearly to ever miss it again.