35. Jonah
Jonah
D arkness.
That’s the first thing.
Not silence.
Not peace.
Just darkness pressing in from every direction.
Then pain hits.
Sharp enough to rip straight through whatever unconscious fog I was drifting in.
My chest tightens violently.
Breathing burns.
Voices echo somewhere far away.
Muffled.
Distorted.
“Stay with us—”
“Pressure’s dropping again—”
“Come on, Jonah—”
I try to move.
Nothing happens.
My body feels too heavy.
Like concrete poured into my veins.
I force another breath in anyway.
Bad idea.
Pain explodes through my side hard enough black spots flash behind my eyes.
Someone presses down near the wound.
I feel it even through the haze.
Pressure.
Hands.
Blood.
A machine starts beeping faster somewhere nearby.
“Push another unit.”
“Vitals are crashing—”
The darkness pulls harder after that.
Cold.
Deep.
Easy to sink into.
And for one dangerous second—
I almost let it.
Then I hear her.
“Sienna…”
Maybe I say her name.
Maybe I only think it.
I can’t tell anymore.
But suddenly she’s there.
Not a hallucination.
Not ORACLE.
Real.
I feel her somewhere close to me.
Fierce.
Terrified.
Refusing to let go.
That’s what reaches me through the dark more than the pain does.
Her.
The memory of her hands gripping my shirt in the bunker.
Her voice shaking while she begged me not to die.
The way she looked at me like losing me would destroy her.
Something inside my chest tightens around that thought.
Warm.
Solid.
Alive.
“Jonah.”
Her voice this time.
Real.
Close.
I follow it instinctively.
Because even half-conscious, bleeding out on an operating table—
I know exactly where I want to be.
Near her.
Always her.
The darkness fights harder when I try to come back.
Pain surges.
Machines scream somewhere above me.
“Stay with us!”
I try.
God, I’m trying.
But the only thing keeping me moving toward the surface now—
Is her voice calling me home.