Chapter seven
Jen
Daron opens the door. The woman on the bed is looking at me.
She has soft restraints at her wrists, the padded kind, and she is not fighting them. She looks pale and exhausted. Her stomach under the thin gown shows a small rise.
The room around her is small and white — a hospital bed against the inside wall, monitors on a rolling stand, an IV pole holding two bags, one clear, one amber. The blinds are drawn against the morning.
I step into the room.
Fen has not crossed the threshold. His wings are folding down. He has gone still and small, pressed to the edge of the door like he can make himself take up less room. I don't know what it costs him. I only know he's trying.
I cross to the bed.
"My name is Jen."
She looks at me — my face, the horns at my hairline.
"Jen," she says. "Jen Griggson."
Her eyes flick to the side rail. The chart is clipped there. She has been reading what she can upside-down through the rails.
I nod.
"You came."
Her mouth pulls tight and the tears come, sliding down her cheeks, and she can’t lift a hand to stop them.
"I didn't think anyone was coming."
It comes out small. I take her hand. Her fingers close around mine.
Stronger than they should be after everything they've done to her. She doesn't let go.
"I came."
Her eyes close.
"They put a baby in me." Her head moves in a tiny shake. "It's growing too fast. I can feel it. It's... it isn't right. It hurts."
"I know."
My thumb brushes across her knuckles.
"I'm so sorry."
Tears spill down her temples.
"Will you get me out of here?"
"Yes." I don't hesitate. "I'm getting you out."
Her free hand drifts to her stomach, lifting the restraint just enough to rest her palm over the swell.
"Your name is Madison?"
She nods.
"Madison. I'm taking these off. Then we walk out of this room — me on one side, Daron on the other. We go together. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Are you in pain right now?"
"All the time." Her breath snags. "I can feel her getting bigger. I swear I can feel it happening."
Then, quieter, "Am I going to die?"
I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I clear my throat and try again.
"There is something that might slow the pregnancy down and make it hurt less," I say. "We are getting it now."
Her eyes come up to mine.
"That's not an answer."
"No."
She lets out a breath.
"Don’t let go," she says.
I reach across her with my free hand and unbuckle the restraint. Simple buckle. It comes off. The wrist beneath the padding is red where it has been pressing for hours.
I get an arm behind her shoulders. "Lean on me."
"No." A breath. "Let me try first."
She swings her legs off the bed and puts her weight down slow, one hand flat on her stomach, jaw set. She wavers — and goes.
I catch her under the arm before she can hit the floor. She comes back up so easily I almost miss how little effort it took.
Madison looks at me.
"I've got you," I say.
Her jaw sets again. She nods.
"Daron."
He comes through the door and takes her right side. I take her left. She is slow, but her legs hold her, and we turn her for the door. At the threshold she stops. Her eyes have gone to Fen, pressed against the wall, wings tucked, not coming in.
"He looks more scared than I am."
She studies him a second longer.
Fen looks away.
She isn't wrong. Daron has her chart tucked under his arm. We start down the corridor. Madison between Daron and me, walking slow but walking. Harek a step behind. Crull has Vance. Dean is at his elbow, his other hand on Vance's zip-tied wrists.
I do not stop.
"How long will it take you to get the reversal?"
"Five minutes," Dean says.
"Go. Meet us outside the South door."
"On it."
They break off toward the basement stairs. We keep on down the corridor the way we came in — past the doors standing open, past the guards still down. Nothing between us and the exit.
Daron pushes the south door open.
The morning is cold and the sun is up across the Cascades, and the trucks are in the stand of firs. The two retrieval agents from Theresa are still zip-tied in the cargo box of the second truck.
I walk Madison to the work truck. Daron opens the back door, and I help her into the back — settled against the seat, a blanket from the floorboard around her.
She does not let go of my hand until I have her arranged.
Then she lets go, and her eyes close, and she is asleep before I get the door shut.
"Daron, let me see the chart.”
I read it.
It shows — blood panels, the pregnancy protocol, the IV nutrients. Then a fresh page for this morning, where they started the cascade. At the top, the demographic block.
Subject Hollens, Madison. F. Age 26. Six-point marker. Gestational carrier — Cohort B-7. Donor cellular material: Subject Griggson, Jennifer L. Extracted 03/05/26. Paternal cellular material: Subject Vex - Field Name Fen. Extracted 11/14/23.
Years.
They took pieces of Fen for a long time before they came for me. They weren't improvising. They'd been waiting for me.
I look up. Fen is not looking at me. He is looking at Madison in the back seat. Then at me. Then at Madison again.
He doesn't say a word. Neither do I. Madison's in the seat. The reversal's on its way.
Except the patch hasn't gone quiet. It's pulling down. Something's still in there.
I don't get in the truck.