For a moment, I wasn't sure if I was dead or alive.
My body floated on the floor. My mind grasped for something solid, some anchor—but everything felt like smoke, slipping through my fingers.
A muffled scream. Footsteps. A man's voice, low and urgent, cursing under his breath.
I tried to open my eyes, but the pain hit first—sharp, searing, blooming in my shoulder like fire licking through flesh. My breath caught. A whimper escaped.
"Janica, stay with me. Don't close your eyes. Please stay."
Jason.
His voice pulled me through the fog. I blinked once, twice, and the world swam into view. A mess of red and white—hospital walls, fluorescent lights, and blood.
My blood.
Jason's face hovered above mine. His shirt was soaked; his eyes wild with panic. His hands pressed something against my shoulder—tight, desperate pressure.
I screamed.
"You're okay, baby," he lied. "You're going to be okay."
A second shadow loomed behind him. A nurse. Then two. One of them shouted something I couldn't understand.
"Sir, you need to let go—we've got her!" someone said.
"She's bleeding too fast," Jason snapped. "You let go, she dies. Save her please."
More hands. More noise. I was being lifted, dragged, wheeled. The ceiling spun overhead.
Jason ran beside the gurney, not caring who tried to stop him.
"Jason…" My voice was a whisper, barely audible.
"I'm right here." His hand brushed mine, just for a second. "I'm not leaving."
The lights above passed in flickering blurs. I tried to hold onto him, onto his voice, but the pain dragged me under again.
I wanted to ask—
Who were they?
Why me?
What does he know that I don't?
But darkness had claws, and it pulled hard.
I let go.
I woke again to quiet.
Dim lighting. A slower heart rate. The pain was dull now, numbed by something in the IV. My shoulder felt heavy, wrapped tight. Breathing was hard but I was breathing.
Jason wasn't there.
For the first time, I noticed a vase of wilted roses on the table, a blanket folded neatly at the edge of the bed. Someone had stayed. Maybe for days.
I tried to shift, but even the smallest movement made my body scream in protest. My mouth was dry. My throat, raw.
I turned my head and there he was.
Jason.
Asleep in the corner chair, head tilted back, arms crossed. Still in the same shirt. Bloodstains faded now.
A sob rose in my chest small and broken.
I didn't even know why I was crying. Relief. Fear. Pain. All of it.
Somehow, he stirred. His eyes opened slowly—bloodshot, exhausted. When he saw me awake, he leaned forward, hands trembling just slightly.
"You made it," he said hoarsely.
"Barely."
I blinked. My throat was dry, my voice cracked. "How long... how long have I been out?"
Jason's mouth pressed into a tight line. "Three days," he said quietly.
Three days? It hit me like a punch to the gut. Time I couldn't remember. Time he must have sat there, waiting, hoping.
He nodded, then stood. "You need to rest," he said, brushing a hand through his hair. "But after that—we talk. I owe you the truth. About everything."
I blinked, my throat dry, my voice cracked. "About what exactly?"
Jason looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
Frustration stirred in my chest, pushing past the pain. I forced myself to sit up slightly, wincing as a fresh wave of agony gripped my shoulder.
"If you're not ready to talk," I rasped, breathing hard, "then leave."
Jason's head snapped toward me, shock flashing in his eyes.
"You can't just stand there and—" My voice broke. I bit down the tears. "You don't get to protect me with silence."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
For a moment, the room was unbearably still—except for the beeping of the heart monitor, too fast, betraying how much the effort had cost me.
Jason dragged a hand down his face, as if trying to scrub away the guilt.
Then, without facing me, voice rough with defeat, he said, "She didn't just die of cancer, Janica. She was silenced."
For a moment, I just stared at him.
And then the tears came—hot and heavy, falling before I could stop them.
"What?" I choked out.
Jason stood there, his face twisted in guilt, in grief.
"She was investigating something," he said. "She found something she shouldn't have. And now they think you know."
My whole body trembled. The words barely made sense. It felt like my world already broken, was shattering all over again.
There was fear in his voice but it was controlled, buried deep, but still there. Like he wasn't just afraid for me… but for what might happen if I ever knew everything.
For a moment, I didn't understand. The words made no sense, floating in my mind like shards of broken glass, too sharp to hold, too scattered to piece together.
They were like pieces of a puzzle forced into place, edges grinding against each other, wrong, painful.
My mind raced, tripping over the horror of what Jason had said, heart pounding so hard against my ribs it hurt.
Silenced?
Found something?
The thoughts tumbled, chaotic, cruel. What had my mother seen? Oh mother! So she never trusted me with anything?
What secret had cost her life and now maybe mine too?
I thought of her late nights at the desk, the hushed phone calls I'd brushed off as stress, her coming home late—sometimes not coming home at all.
Always with a tired smile. Always telling me not to worry.
God, how blind had I been? This was too much to handle.
Too much to believe.
"Jason… what are you saying?" I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of it all. "You think this—what happened to me—it wasn't random?"
He said nothing.
The silence was worse than an answer.
"You think they're trying to kill me… because of something she did?"
Still, no answer.
The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, buzzing in my ears.
A tremor built inside me—part rage, part grief, part the helplessness of lying there, broken and bleeding while the world spun without sense.
"Say something," I whispered hoarsely, my voice shaking, barely holding together. "Don't just—stand there."
My hands clenched weakly against the blanket. If my body had obeyed me, I would've risen, would've slammed my fists against his chest, anything to make him speak. Anything to make him look at me.
But I couldn't move.
The betrayal in his silence hit harder than any bullet.
Tears welled up, hot and furious, spilling down my cheeks. I hated him in that moment—for knowing, for hiding it, for standing there like he was the one who had been shattered.
"Jason," I choked out. "You owe me the truth. You owe me."
Finally, he turned to face me—and I saw it.
The war behind his eyes.
The guilt. The fear.
And the terrible, bleeding truth he didn't want to say.
I stared at him, my voice cracking. "Jason, what did she find? What did she know?"