Those were good days—the kind that sneak up on you and suddenly feel like your favorite movie montage. Jenna Kossel had someone now. Someone to lean on. And that someone was Jim.
She wasn't the kind of girl who sat around sulking over life—but still, these past few weeks had cracked her open in a way she didn't expect. She laughed more. Felt more. Lived more. She and Jim had started going outside the hospital together, sneaking in little adventures. They learned to ride bikes. Shared a kiss. Tried some weird snacks. One time, she dared him to eat a raw olive. Regret was immediate and mutual.
This morning, Jenna was at Jim's house. They were supposed to meet up at Max's place, but Jim never showed. And now it was 10 a.m.—which, fine, wasn't exactly the middle of the night, but still. Jenna had a feeling.
Gloria, Jim's mom, greeted her at the door with that kind of warmth that smells like coffee and folded laundry.
"Hey, sweetheart," Gloria said, ushering her in. She liked Jenna a lot. Mostly because she was the first person outside the family that Jim actually cared about enough to bring around.
"Matt," Gloria called as her elder son strolled through the living room, cereal bowl in hand. Jenna sat quietly beside her on the couch.
"Where's your brother?" she asked.
"Probably dead, Ma," Matt replied flatly.
Gloria's eyebrows did a high jump. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying," Matt continued, unfazed. "It's mid day . Dude's still asleep like he's training for a coma. What do you want me to think? I'm concerned!"
Gloria let out a breath, that familiar maternal mix of exasperation and "my kid might be onto something." She remembered the countdown. Just as she was about to head upstairs, Jim appeared at the hallway door, still groggy and hair doing acrobatics.
"Oh my God, Jim," Gloria said, relief washing over her. "You had me worried!"
Jim blinked at the light like a vampire freshly awoken from a 300-year nap. "Morning, Ma. Morning, Miss Kossel," he mumbled, before disappearing again to get ready.
Matt just shook his head. "Yep. Definitely half-ghost."
And Jenna sat there, smiling quietly. Because somehow, this weird family, this sleepy boy, and this almost-magical mess of a life, it all felt right.
Jim was walking with Jenna, and honestly? She looked better. Still pale—like a moonlit version of her usual self—but definitely more alive. There was a glow about her. Not like the "glowing skin" people talk about on skincare commercials, this was real, soft, warm-life-coming-back kind of glow.
They got to Max Donman's place, a familiar porch with paint that had seen better years and a wind chime that sounded like it needed therapy.
Jenna had been worried. Ever since she started hanging out with Jim, Max had gone full Houdini. No texts. No calls. Not even a meme reply. Just—vanished.
She knocked. The door creaked open and there stood Max's sister, wearing that look people have when they weren't expecting visitors and deeply regret opening the door.
"Jenna? What brings you here?" she asked, eyebrows trying to keep up with her confusion.
"I'm looking for Max," Jenna said.
The young lady didn't even blink. "Max said he doesn't want to see you."
Okay, wow. That stung.
"What? Why?" Jenna asked, frowning. "Tell him I've been looking for him. Please."
Jim, still beside her, suddenly locked eyes with Max's sister. And everything just... hit him.
It was like time cracked open. He saw it all.
The last fifteen minutes. The next fifteen minutes. A fast-forward nightmare playing behind his eyes.
Max, inside, looking not-right. Eyes dark, movements off. His sister trying to hold him back, voice breaking. Then Max shoving her—hard. Her head hitting the sofa. Him snapping out of it, sobbing, holding her, apologizing over and over.
And in the next flicker of time—he saw her. Still. Cold. Lifeless.
Max, broken and horrified by what he'd done.
Jim blinked, heart racing, breath shallow. How do you explain that kind of thing to someone? "Hey Jenna, so I just saw a vision of your old friend accidentally murdering his sister, and we should probably leave before it happens?" Yeah, not a great conversation starter.
So he didn't explain. He just acted.
"Jenna, let's go," Jim said, voice tighter than usual. He gently grabbed her hand and started pulling her away from the house.
"But—" she started, glancing back. Max's sister was still standing there, arms crossed but eyes… tired.
"Tisha, tell Max to call me," Jenna said as they walked away.
Max's sister nodded slowly, like she was holding in a storm.
Jim kept walking, a little faster now. He didn't say anything.
Because sometimes, when you know something horrible is about to happen—and you also know there's no stopping it—the best you can do is protect the people still breathing beside you.
Max Donman didn't just fade into the background like a side character in someone else's story—he collapsed out of it.
He'd always been that guy for Jenna. The dependable one. The "bring you water, sit by your hospital bed, talk you through the pain" kind of friend. Even when his own body was falling apart, even when the meds made him shake or sleep or lose pieces of himself, he still showed up. Jenna came first. Always.
But there was something he'd never managed to say. Something buried deep behind all the late-night talks and the way his voice softened every time she said his name.
Then that day—he walked into the hospital like usual, swinging by unannounced because that's what you do when someone's your person. He was gonna bring her a joke, maybe a milkshake, maybe… finally the truth.
But then he saw it.
Through the hospital window. Jenna. Jim. A kiss.
Max didn't blink. Didn't move. Just… watched. Like the world had tilted sideways and all the color spilled out.
Something snapped.
He didn't walk in. Didn't say hi. Didn't even finish his thoughts. He turned around, walked out the front doors, and something cold started growing in his chest.
He hated the Slevann brothers—always had, even when Jim was still halfway between coma and corpse. But now? Now it was personal. Now it was Jenna.
He stopped taking his meds. One by one, the pills stayed in their bottles, then in drawers, then scattered across the floor like useless candy. He waited for death like it was a train he missed on purpose. And every day it got worse. The tremors. The rage. The emptiness. Life without Jenna didn't just hurt, it didn't make sense.
Tisha, his sister, tried to hold him together. She was loud, she was tough, she was everything he wasn't in that moment. And she was the only thread still keeping him here.
Then that thread snapped too.
The memory would forever be a blur of shouting, tears, and that horrible moment when he lost control. When he came back to himself, she wasn't breathing. And her body was cold. And Max Donman was on the floor, shaking, crying, covered in grief and guilt and the kind of loneliness that eats your name.
He sat there for a while, longer than most people could sit with what they'd done. A knife in his hand. Just… waiting. For nothing.
He didn't believe in redemption. Or second chances. Not anymore.
And then he heard it.
A voice.
Not loud. Not echoing from the heavens. Just… there.
Smooth. Tempting. Wrong.
"Do you want to reign?"
Max blinked. Looked around. The room was still. His sister's body was still.
But that voice, it curled in the air like smoke. Like it didn't need a mouth or a body to exist. And Max?
Max didn't answer with words.
But he gripped the knife tighter.
And something inside him… answered for him.