He snorts softly.
“Now,” he continues, ignoring me entirely, “we’re going to talk about what you’re willing to do to keep him that way.”
I don’t ask anything else.I don’t beg.I don’t thank him.
I keep eating.
The food turns to ash in my mouth, but I finish it anyway. I steady my breathing. I quiet the shaking in my hands. I let my body slip back into endurance mode.
Johnathon watches closely.
He’s looking for cracks.
He doesn’t find them.
Because something inside me has already shifted, settling deep.
“You heard what I said, Johnathon. I want proof.”
With a grunt and an irritated sigh, he pulls out his phone, taps a few times, then sets it on the table and slides it toward me.
The screen is paused on a news clip.
Burnt Ashes band member Trey Baker is out of critical condition at a Los Angeles hospital. Doctors expect a full recovery.
The words blur.
My heart stutters.
Trey lives.
Heat floods my chest so fast it nearly knocks the breath from me. Klause’s tail thumps twice against my leg, sensing the surge of emotion. Tears burn behind my eyes, threatening to spill over.
I look up.
Johnathon is watching me.
His face is flat. Assessing.
I swallow hard and rein in my reaction, locking it down before it can betray me. The joy is there, roaring and wild, but I bury it deep beneath layers of control.
This isn’t safety.
This is leverage.
But Trey pulling through changes everything.
I prayed he might survive.
I hoped.
This…this is confirmation, and with it comes certainty.
I have to persist.
I have to endure whatever this becomes so Trey has time to find me.
That realization rewires something inside my chest.
