I clenched my fists, rage coursing through me like wildfire. He put her through pain. Through hell.
I bolted to my feet, towering over Jack. “How are you alive?” I demanded. “Olivia told me Tristan killed you—she watched you die.”
Jack’s face twisted with sorrow. A lone tear slipped down his wrinkled cheek.
He eased the silver frame away from his chest and set it down, his fingers lingering over the image as if it were fragile enough to shatter.
“And that’s Olivia’s last memory of me?” he whispered. “Oh, dear… my darling Olivia doesn’t know.” His voice trembled. “I thought I was a dead man. Yes, I did.” He swallowed thickly. “I survived because of Lee—he saved me.”
His gaze drifted to Olivia’s picture, and he traced a fingertip over her face. “That was eight months ago. My daughter has been gone since then.”
My breath stilled. Eight months?
None of this made sense. I staggered backward, the room spinning. No. That’s impossible.
“Eight months?” My voice rose in disbelief. “Olivia’s been gone for two years, not eight months! We met two years ago!”
Jack’s face paled, his mouth parting slightly. His hands shook as he patted his leg. “My goodness, son… how is that possible?” He exhaled. “Oh, I have so many questions. Where is she now? How did you meet her?”
But I wasn’t listening. My mind was already elsewhere.
I needed to find Olivia.
I turned toward the door. “I have to go back to her. She’ll think I’m dead.”
A sudden pain shot through my chest, nearly knocking me off balance.
Jack reached for me, his grip surprisingly strong. “No, son. What you need is to rest. Heal. Gather your strength.” His voice was firm but kind. “Please, go back to bed. I’ll call my neighbor—he’ll know how to advise us.”
I ripped my arm from his grasp.
“No! You don’t understand! I have to be with Olivia!”
My breathing was ragged, and my heart was pounding against my ribs.
“She thinks I’m dead,” I whispered.
And that thought alone was unbearable.
The pain ignited in my chest again, searing through me like a blade. Warmth spread beneath my fingers—blood soaking through one of the white patches Jack had placed on me.
Jack’s expression hardened. Though slight in frame, he seemed to grow in stature, his presence commanding.
“Please, son,” he said with quiet authority. “Get back to bed. This wound is the worst.” He gestured to the fresh stain of red seeping through the bandage. “Lee and I have worked hard to keep you alive. We won’t lose you now.”
The fight drained from my limbs, my strength slipping away as my body betrayed me. I staggered back to the bed, collapsing onto it with a groan.
Moon Lee. Dancing Fire. That was his name in my time.
I exhaled raggedly. “Moon Lee is here? At this time? He’s the man who raised Olivia?”
Jack stiffened. “Well, I’m her father.” A flash of something—resentment? Pain?—crossed his face before vanishing. “But yes, he helped raise her. He taught her how to defend herself. She was a highly trained martial artist.”
“A what?” My brow furrowed through the haze of pain.
“A… what you would call a warrior.”
A surge of pride cut through the fog of agony—Olivia, a warrior. We had fought side by side before—I had witnessed her strength and ferocity. But my body, racked with pain, forced me back into the moment.
