I woke to the scent of antiseptic. It was the first thing I noticed—the sterile, almost clinical smell that filled my nostrils and made my head ache. My eyelids fluttered open, and the world around me came into focus, blurry at first, then clearer.
I was in a hospital room. A bed beneath me, soft but cold, and the rhythmic beep of a machine nearby. My heart thudded in my chest, a slow, deliberate pulse like it was trying to catch up to the panic still racing through my veins.
I was alive. I was safe.
But why wasn't Jason here?
The events rushed back. The gunshot. The cold gleam of metal. The terror in Jason's eyes. I had seen him move to protect me. Hadn't he? He had shoved me down, covered me, told me to go inside.
And then the shot. The darkness.
Where was he? Was he okay?
I tried to sit up but my body protested, aching, like every muscle had been stretched too thin. My head spun as I reached for the IV in my arm, the beeping of the heart monitor growing louder in my ears.
"Janica…"
I froze at the sound of my name. It was low, soft, familiar, and yet it sent a chill through my skin.
I turned my head slowly. There, standing in the doorway, was Jason.
His face was bruised. There was blood on his shirt—streaks of it dried along his collar, but there were no signs of injury. He was alive. But there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch.
He looked… different. The man who had shielded me just hours ago seemed somehow more haunted, like the man I had known was swallowed up by something darker.
"Jason," I whispered, my voice cracking as I tried to sit up again, this time ignoring the protest from my body. "You're alive."
"I'm not going anywhere," he replied, his voice gravelly, like it hadn't been used in hours. But there was a heaviness in his tone. A warning I didn't quite understand.
"Are you okay?" I asked, voice shaking. "What happened? Who were they?"
Jason stepped further into the room, his eyes never leaving mine. He seemed so much more tense now. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched like he was holding back something.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved to sit by my side, his hand hovering close to mine but not quite touching.
"I'll explain everything, Janica," he finally said, his voice low and strained. "But not here. Not now."
My chest tightened, and I could feel the weight of his words pressing down on me. Something wasn't right. Something was off. I could feel it in my bones.
He reached for my hand, but I pulled away instinctively. I wasn't ready to forgive him yet. Not after everything that had happened. Not after he left me in the dark for so long, after everything that led me here.
He let his hand drop, his eyes softening, as if he understood my reluctance.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "For everything. For what you've been dragged into. For… leaving."
I couldn't look at him. Not yet.
"I don't want your apologies," I said, my voice rising. "I want answers. I want to know why the hell I'm involved in this. Why they were after me. And why you think you can just walk back into my life like nothing happened."
He stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps across the room, running a hand through his hair. "It's not that simple, Janica. You're involved because—"
A loud bang cut him off. Not a door slam. Not a dropped tray.
A gunshot.
Jason's body jerked toward the hallway. His eyes widened. "Down!" he barked.
I dropped to the floor just as the door burst open.
The world exploded into chaos—screams from the nurses' station, hurried footsteps, another gunshot that splintered the air like glass.
Jason threw himself forward. The metallic flash of a gun. A figure in black. The scent of gunpowder.
And then—
Pain.
Searing. Crippling. Like fire ripping through my shoulder.
My scream was swallowed by the third shot.
Jason roared something I couldn't hear. My vision spun as I hit the floor, blood blooming beneath me like petals.