CHAPTER 11. DISQUIET #4
I head to the bathroom to wash my face, then come back and help her finish putting the leftovers away. She starts getting ready to leave, and I watch quietly as she slips on her shoes.
When she stands, she gives me a small, pitying smile. “Well…I should get going.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say, pulling her into a hug.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asks when I let her go.
“Yeah.”
“Call me or text me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
She gives me one last, sad look before slipping out, and I close the door behind her.
The silence that settles over the apartment feels heavier now—somehow denser without her in it.
I pull out my phone, scroll through my recent calls until I find Xavier’s number, and tap it. When we fought, I was so sure I wouldn’t call him. I was angry—furious, even. But now I’m not even sure I have any dignity left. I just need to know he’s okay. Even if he’s off somewhere hating me.
The line rings.
No answer.
I head to the bathroom, step into the shower, and let the water run over me. I stand there motionless, maybe for half an hour, debating whether I should call Ernest. Maybe he knows where Xavier is. Maybe he’s tracking him—he usually is.
What if something happened to him?
But even as panic coils in my gut, I try to talk myself down. I’m probably overreacting. This is just Xavier being Xavier. He couldn’t exactly sulk in his room all day with people over, so he left. Probably went to Ernest’s. Or…somewhere else, though I can’t picture where else he’d go. Not really.
I exhale hard, eyes closed, trying not to think. Trying not to picture him.
But the image of his face lingers anyway, burned into the backs of my eyelids.
Eventually, I drag myself out of the shower, towel off, get dressed. Check my phone again. Still nothing.
With a sigh, I head to my bedroom, flick off the light, and crawl under the covers. The sheets are cool against my skin, but I don’t feel that relief you get after a long day—just an anxious pull in my chest.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. It drips in slow, broken fragments—half-formed dreams I can’t hold onto, drifting in and out like ocean waves.
Then something pulls me awake.
I jolt, breath catching.
The room is still dark, but the first hints of dawn are starting to creep in. Through a gap in the curtains, I see a sliver of sky—no longer pitch black, but deep blue.
I don’t know what woke me. My hand fumbles blindly for my phone. My fingers find the side button, and the screen flares to life.
5:50 AM.
“Newt.”
My heart leaps into my throat.
A shadowy figure is sitting at the foot of my bed.
“Xavier?” I sit up abruptly, squinting into the dark. “When did you get in?”
“Just now,” he says, voice hoarse.
My pulse kicks up—wild, uneven. But the brief relief of hearing his voice vanishes almost immediately. Something’s off.
“Are you okay?” I shift forward, trying to see his face in the dim light, but it’s impossible to read his expression.
“Yes.” His voice is quiet. Strange, somehow.
“Xavier?” I push back the covers and inch closer. “What’s that smell? Is that…gasoline?”
“Mm,” he murmurs, barely audible.
I frown. After not seeing him all day, the urge to touch him, to hold him, hits me hard. But he looks completely drained, barely upright. Is he drunk?
“Xavier…” I reach for his hand—and flinch. His skin is ice-cold, his fingers trembling. “God, you’re freezing…” I run the back of my hand along his neck, his cheek. “You’re shivering all over. Where have you been?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he whispers, trying to pull away.
I don’t let him. Instead, I press my lips to his forehead. It’s cold too.
“Xavier…”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“I’m okay.”
I start to get up to switch on the bedside lamp, but Xavier’s cold fingers close around my wrist, stopping me.
“Don’t.”
“Just let me look at you—”
“Newt.” His eyes meet mine in the dim light. “I’m fine.”
His grip tightens.
“You’re shaking…”
“I’m just cold. A bit out of it. It’ll pass…”
“Out of it?” A knot forms in my stomach.
“I was exposed to gasoline vapors too long…”
“What?!” I reach for the lamp again, but he pulls my hand back.
“I told you, I’m okay.”
My chest tightens. “How long were you breathing that stuff in?”
“It’s just gasoline, Newt, not toxic waste. Relax,” he mutters. “I’m mostly fine. My head hurts a little, my eyes are burning, I’m freezing, a bit dizzy—and a little nauseous.”
“Xavier, you do know how dangerous gasoline vapors are, right? It’s not just general poisoning—it can mess with your brain.”
“I’m fine.”
“We should call an ambulance.”
Xavier lets out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, clearly tired of arguing.
“Please, let’s not fight over this,” he says—and there’s a softness in his voice.
I exhale, anxiety pressing down on my chest.
“All right,” I say. “Come here, just lie down,” I add, pulling back the covers.
Xavier doesn’t hesitate. He climbs in beside me, and I pull the comforter over him.
“I’ll go make you some tea, grab some pills,” I say, starting to get up—but Xavier yanks me back by the elbow.
“Newt, please.” His voice is hoarse, quieter than before. “Please, just stay with me.”
He shifts over, closing the distance between us, curling up against my side. I wrap an arm around him and rub his back, trying to warm him up. He exhales a quiet sigh, like he’s finally letting himself relax, though I can still feel a faint tremor in his body.
All the frustration I’d had for him today melts away.
“Tell me, where were you, Xavier?” I ask, trying again.
“Mm,” he mutters. “At Rishetor’s.”
“Oh God… What were you doing there? Were you there all day?”
“Pretty much,” Xavier whispers, a tired but proud smile tugging at his lips. “I cracked the case, Newt…” We’re so close, but it feels natural—like we’ve done this a million times. “Henry Wakefield was working on some big o-off-ledger p-project.”
“What kind of project?” I say, my hand still absently rubbing his back.
“At Rishetor, he was setting up cryogenic containment for live biological agents. Private pharma and defense clients. No paper trail.”
“Containment? How did you figure that out?”
“The bends, Newt. It all comes down to the bends…”
I look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or just out of it.
“Xavier, you need to rest. You’re completely shaken…”
He lets out a low chuckle, his hand finding my waist, arm curling around my back.
“No, listen. You said it yourself—the bends is a diver’s disease,” Xavier murmurs, leaning in until I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
“And I kept thinking—how does a guy who spends all day in a lab end up with the bends? It happens when the pressure of inhaled gases drops too fast, right? So the answer isn’t water—it’s depth. ”
“Underground labs?” I say, frowning, and Xavier nods.
“Exactly. High-pressure chambers, deep underground. They build them that way for safety—if something goes wrong, the system locks everything down, seals the doors, cuts the lab off from the rest of the facility. Wakefield’s death was just an accident.
He was working late in one of those labs when something went wrong—a gasoline generator failed, the room filled with exhaust, and the lockdown kicked in. ”
I try to keep up. “But why didn’t he call for help?”
“The bends, Newt. You said it yourself, he had it bad. One of the side effects is—”
“—passing out,” I finish.
“Exactly. Wakefield blacked out and suffocated,” Xavier says, voice low, almost triumphant, even as he keeps shivering.
“But Xavier—what about the frostbite? He was ice-cold, remember? In the morgue?”
“They must’ve frozen him after the fact.
To cover up Rishetor’s secret project. Probably dunked the body in liquid nitrogen or some cryogenic solution.
He couldn’t have frozen in that Blue Lab.
I sat in there for twelve hours—no protective gear—and I’m still here.
Wakefield, in a suit, wouldn’t have frozen that fast.”
“Twelve hours?!” I stare at him, horrified. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It was an experiment, Newt. What wouldn’t you do for science?” Xavier flashes a grin—way too pleased with himself.
“And no one noticed? How the hell did you even get in? Or out?”
“You don’t want to know,” he says with a low chuckle. “Considering their security’s about to find out, it’s probably best you don’t know anything when Willand shows up. Oh—and I found the underground lab where Wakefield died.”
I just gape at him, because clearly he’s not done.
“There are three gasoline generators down there. One of them was broken—probably the one that killed him. I tampered with another, just to see how fast the exhaust would build up and how quickly I’d start feeling it… Turns out, pretty damn fast.”
“Are you completely insane?” I sit up, staring at him like he’s lost it. “First you freeze yourself half to death—now you’re testing how fast you can suffocate?”
Xavier just shrugs. “I felt fine. The shaking and dizziness only kicked in on the way home…”
“Xavier, do you even realize how dangerous that was? If you’d stayed in there a little longer, you wouldn’t just be dizzy—you could’ve passed out and suffocated, just like Wakefield. And even if you made it out, that kind of exposure can cause real damage—internal bleeding, neurological issues—”
“Don’t be mad, Newt,” Xavier says gently, reaching for my shoulder. Before I know it, he’s tugged me closer—practically on top of him.
My heart pounds, but I force myself to stay focused. I let out a heavy sigh. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“I don’t need that. I’m fine,” he murmurs, his cold hand brushing my cheek. “They’ll just tell me to rest. Come on, lie back down.”
Our eyes meet, and something in me snaps. I throw off the covers, march over to the wardrobe, yank out a sweater, and toss it at him.
“Put this on.”
He catches it, frowning. “What is it?”
“My sweater. Just put it on. You need to warm up.”