Chapter 23 - Em #4
“In case you weren’t aware, a leisurely walk after eating has been shown to help with digestion,” I say. “It promotes movement through the gastrointestinal tract and can reduce that restless sensation you get afterward.”
He nods, eyes on the path, but I can tell he’s listening. “That buzzing feeling,” he says. “It’s like my body’s asking me to do something?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Remaining still can amplify it. Movement helps redirect the energy.”
He glances at me. “So this is medically recommended?”
“It is,” I say. “Low impact, consistent motion. Especially after heavier meals.”
His thumb traces my knuckle. “Makes sense,” he murmurs. “I feel better after just a few steps.”
“That would agree with some results in recent studies,” I say. “Though, I’d say the sample sizes are currently limited.”
A faint smile lifts his lips. He squeezes my hand. I take it as a quiet invitation to continue.
“The effect also extends to mood,” I add. “Blood sugar regulation plays a role, which would explain why you’d be less tense.”
“Or,” he says with a subtle smirk, “I enjoy walking with you, Em.”
I look up at him, my glasses fogging from the heat of my blushing cheeks. “That variable may be difficult to isolate.”
He smiles, content to let me talk while he occasionally asks excellent questions.
We keep walking, our steps aligning naturally. I stop marking time as we pass dormant flower beds and a trickling fountain, the garden thinning until only the greenhouse comes into view, the greenery inside unseen behind fogged windows.
Lix slows as we reach it, turning his head toward me. “I like hearing what’s on your mind, Em.”
I fasten his hand as he reaches the greenhouse door and pulls it open. I step inside with him.
Warm, humid air presses outward, heavy with the scent of soil and growing green. My glasses fog along the edges, and I tilt my head slightly to adjust as my vision compensates.
At the far end of the greenhouse, Darius stands over one of the long metal worktables.
He’s positioned squarely with his back to us, and his attention directed downward. In his hands is a compact medical containment unit with a transparent casing.
Inside it, suspended in a clear stabilizing fluid, a human heart contracts.
Blood drips from the table’s edge.
Another follows, darker, thicker.
My attention pulls away from Darius to follow the source.
A body lies across the table he’s blocking.
One arm hangs over the side, fingers slack and unmoving.
Blood streaks the metal surface beneath the torso.
My stomach tightens in twisted knots.
I take in the scent next. Roses from the surrounding blooms, dense in the warmth. Beneath that, familiar in a way that makes my throat constrict before I can stop it.
Idris.
A sound slips past my lips.
Lix moves in front of me. His stance widens, body angled between me and Darius in a reflexive barrier.
Darius looks up, glancing at us, with a shaky gaze.
Then he stares at the table, his shoulders rising with his ragged breath. At the table’s edge, I spot sharp surgical tools, a ripped-open first aid kit, and an empty bottle of whiskey.
When Darius slowly turns his head to land his eyes on me, Lix sprints for a step before I snatch him.
“No, it’s dangerous! Slow down!” I utter without thought, mirroring words I heard earlier, out of sheer fear that’s taken over my instincts.
Darius blinks, eyes going black, as he adjusts his grip on the containment unit, securing it against his body.
He takes an empty pot and throws it at the greenhouse window.
Glass bursts, letting the cold rush in, and just as swiftly, Darius runs through the opening, taking the device with him.
I cross the distance to the table at a run, Lix right beside me.
My hands come down hard on Idris’ bare chest, slick with blood, pressing where volume has been lost.
The incision is closed. Sutures hold the skin together in clean lines, precise despite the violence that led to them.
I press harder, trying to remember how long it takes for someone without a heart to live. I try to lie to myself, not wanting to admit that it would’ve only been mere seconds.
But the resistance beneath my palms doesn’t match normal human anatomy.
I feel…metal. Smooth and rigid beneath skin and muscle. A vibration transfers through my hands, consistent and mechanical.
In my mind, understanding assembles rapidly.
My focus fractures, snapping backward in time. Darius on the ship, taking components apart and fitting them together with methodical repetition.
The behavior I had categorized as nervousness, a way to occupy his hands. It wasn’t that.
He’s been building this. An artificial cardiac unit designed to sustain life in place of a real heart.
“Idris,” I say, my voice breaking despite my attempt to regulate it.
I grip his shoulders, increasing stimulation, my hands shaking now as panic bleeds through control.
“You need to wake up,” I plead. “Come back to me.”
Footsteps rush into the greenhouse. Stan’s voice cuts through the space as Lix explains what we saw, his words speedy yet detailed.
I catch some while I try to coax Idris awake, Lix’s words mingling in the air with my erratic breaths. Darius… Looked affected by Kys… Cut out Idris’ heart… Replaced with a machine…
Lix and Stan are on either side of me. I can hear them, but the sounds out of their mouths no longer register as words while my head spins.
All I see is Idris. His eyes are shut. His skin isn’t as cold as the biting winter wind. He only has to wake up, so I keep shaking him, even when Stan’s hands attempt to stop me, and Lix’s arms are around my waist.
But a miracle takes place a moment later. Blinking back tears, I breathe shakily, seeing Idris groan. His eyes open partway, unfocused until his pupils dilate when they point toward me.
“Hey, Em,” he says, words slurred and voice strained. “I’m okay.”
His words don’t match the reality of red and blood on my hands.
“I wish I could tell you everything,” he continues, breath shallow. “But if I do, you’ll be in his crosshairs. I can’t let that happen to you and—”
His body gives out before he finishes his sentence. His head turns to the side, weight going slack.
Stan carries Idris, careful to protect the incision. “Hospital,” he says. “Now.”
“Should we call an ambulance?” Elle asks as we pass her by the door, fear breaking through her voice.
“I drive faster,” Stan tells her. “Sorry and happy birthday!”
My legs fail to mirror the pace of Stan’s sprint.
Lix takes me into his arms as he charges forward.
“We’ll be back,” he calls back to Elle.
“Please be safe!” Elle calls after us, as I see Sterling’s arms closing around her, while we disappear into the sudden swirling flurry of snow.
***
After a fast ride through frozen roads, Stan barrels through the emergency doors with Idris in his arms, shouting for help before they even clear the threshold. His voice carries, loud and commanding. It cuts through the waiting room noise in an instant.
They must recognize him as a Song-Smith.
Nurses break into motion. A gurney appears swiftly. Doctors follow, white coats flaring as they pivot toward Idris, haste overtaking any attempt at professionalism.
Idris disappears behind swinging doors.
His absence is abrupt, letting dread drown me in thoughts that he may not survive this.
Time stretches afterward. I can’t measure any of it accurately.
Lix stays close, his arm firm around my shoulders when my balance, even when sitting, wavers.
Stan crouches in front of me, repeating assurances that try to reach me.
But I keep replaying the chess match I had with Idris instead. The arrangement of pieces. The way Idris guided the game. The moves he let me make. How he let me win while I paid no heed.
I should have listened to him more closely.
I should have asked him what he meant. I should have noticed something was wrong before Darius cut into him.
The pattern feels obvious now, assembling itself too late.
There were other moments too, when Set said “slow down” and when Idris shared his worries about Darius with me.
Pieces I didn’t question. Gaps of information I simply accepted.
I catalog them compulsively now, going over every detail that led to this very moment, where my heart’s hammering so hard that I can no longer pay attention to anything else.
Damon’s arrival tears my thoughts apart. He’s speaking quickly about how Set’s staff returned, how they helped Set and Darius escape, but Damon placed trackers on their cars before they left the estate.
I nod as if I’m filing it all away into my overstuffed mind.
A door opens. A doctor steps out and looks around, scanning until her gaze finds us. “Would you like to see him?” she asks.
My breath leaves me all at once.
We follow the doctor down the corridor.
Idris’ room smells sterile and is far too bright. Machines drone around his bed. Tubes run where they shouldn’t need to, monitoring what can’t be trusted to function on its own. He looks weak lying there, color drained, lashes dark against his cheeks. But he’s alive. His heart monitor says so.
Damon stops at the door. So does Stan. Lix hesitates for a second, squeezing my hand before stepping back with them.
I move to the bedside, careful and aware of every sound I make. I take Idris’ hand. It’s thankfully warm, his pulse faint but pumping blood efficiently enough.
His fingers grip mine. The movement seems to be more effort than strength, but it draws my full focus.
Idris’ eyes open, though they struggle to stay that way. It takes time for them to find me. When they do, his brow creases, relief flickering there, even when fatigue drags at it.
“Em,” he says.
My name scrapes out of him. He swallows afterward, breath shallow, chest rising with effort.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “Spare your energy, Idris. You don’t have to speak.”
He winces when a laugh leaves him. “I do, sparingly.”