Chapter 3
Xavier
Cold.
No, heat. Burning beneath skin that shouldn’t feel anything.
My body existed in pieces. Shoulder screaming. Ribs grinding with each breath, sharp on inhale, agony when I tried deeper. Head splitting, pulse hammering against the fracture.
Wrong. Everything wrong.
Tried to speak.
Nothing.
Throat engaged. Mouth opened. Air moved through vocal cords that seized, producing silence.
Again.
Still nothing.
Panic, sharp, immediate. Chest constricting, pulse hammering. Something fundamental broken beyond the physical damage.
Eyes open.
White ceiling. Cracks like spiderwebs across plaster. My gaze swept the room without conscious thought, window covered, door closed, shadows in corners.
Why?
Counting. Measuring. Looking for... threats? Exits?
Didn’t know. Couldn’t stop.
My hands rested at my sides, fingers curved. Waiting for weight that wasn’t there. Weapon weight.
Always waiting.
For what?
The silence pressed wrong. Too quiet. Something should be happening. Someone should be,
The thought dissolved.
Breathing quickened. Ribs protested, fire lancing through bruised tissue. I forced the rhythm slower. Shallow. Anything deeper cost too much.
Start with what I could understand.
Pain.
Shoulder, fire spreading from joint through my entire arm. The angle was different. Someone had moved it. Fixed it. Set the dislocation while I was unconscious.
While I couldn’t stop them.
Pulse kicked higher. My body twisted defensive, instinct surging before thought. The movement sent white-hot agony through ribs and shoulder, stealing breath.
Gasped. No sound. Just pain, real enough.
Back hit wall. Cold through thin fabric.
Fabric.
Looked down.
Bandages. White gauze wrapped precise around my torso. Everything else, gone. Just bandages and skin.
Breathing went ragged. Each inhale hurt. Each exhale worse.
Someone had stripped me. Cleaned me. Touched every part.
And I didn’t remember.
Fury came and went like a wave, leaving tremors. The shaking made everything hurt more.
Someone had done this.
Something twisted in my chest. Not pain, different. Made my throat tight, eyes burn.
Fingers touched the bandages. Even that small movement sent lightning from my shoulder. Soft. Clean.
Why?
Why this careful?
Fever climbed beneath my skin. Wrong heat. Making the pain sharper, thoughts slower, vision blurring at edges.
Tried to speak. Make any sound.
Mouth opened. Throat worked.
Nothing.
Terror spiked cold through the fever.
Broken. Something in me was broken. Speech should work. Should be able to,
But couldn’t.
Had I ever?
Didn’t know. Couldn’t remember sounds. Couldn’t remember silence. Just this failure, repeating.
Who was I?
Blank space where answers should live.
Reached for anything. Any name. Any identity.
Nothing came.
Just emptiness.
Looked at my hands. Really looked.
Calluses across palms. Scars crisscrossing knuckles. Healed wrong, street fighting, bare-knuckle damage.
Were these mine?
They looked like they belonged to someone dangerous. Someone who, what?
Didn’t know. Just marks. Just violence written in skin.
Someone had cleaned them anyway. Wrapped them after washing away,
Blood?
Mine or someone else’s?
No answer.
Fingers found the back of my neck. Lifting my arm sent fire through shoulder. Lines there. Scars. Surgical precision. Deliberate cuts.
Someone had opened my skull.
Fear hit hard, cold.
These scars meant something. Something wrong.
What?
Traced them, trying to remember. Trying to pull up anything. The movement made my head throb worse, vision swimming.
Nothing.
Just scars and terror I couldn’t explain.
Blankets surrounded me. Heavy. Warm. Too warm with fever climbing.
When had someone covered me?
Touched the fabric. Soft cotton. Not medical. Personal.
Someone’s blankets.
Given to me.
That feeling returned, the ache in my chest. Vision blurred.
What was this?
Reached for memory. Any memory.
Fragments came:
Water. Cold. Drowning.
Falling. Long drop.
Running. Always running.
Red lights strobing.
A voice. Female. Soft. Saying,
“You’re safe.”
Was I?
Didn’t know what that word meant.
Hands kept moving without permission. Positions I didn’t choose. Curved. Ready. Muscle memory operating without context.
Eyes tracked the room again. Counting. Measuring threat levels.
Why?
Didn’t know. Couldn’t stop.
The fever climbed higher. Spreading. Making skin feel tight, head feel loose, disconnected.
Needed to move.
The thought came with an urgency I didn’t understand. Just knew: staying here was dangerous.
Had to move.
Pushed upright.
Everything screamed. Shoulder. Ribs, stabbing with the movement. Head pounding so hard vision whited out.
Waited for vision to clear. Breathing shallow. Hurting.
Legs swung off the bed. Feet hit freezing floor. The shock cut through fever heat.
Tried to stand.
Legs buckled. Caught the bedframe, forcing myself up through pain that made my stomach turn. Room spun. Sweat broke across my skin despite the cold.
One step.
Shoulder screaming. Ribs tearing. Room tilted.
Crashed into wall. Impact sent fresh agony through everything.
Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t see straight. Fever making everything swim.
Had to move anyway.
Another step. Using the wall. Each movement fire. Slow progress toward the door.
So far.
Body shook. Fever or pain or both. Everything hurt.
Another step.
Floor rushed up.
Caught myself. Barely. Hands hit first, impact jolting through shoulder. Then knees, shockwave through bruised ribs.
Bit down. No sound but tasted blood from biting through my cheek.
Couldn’t get up.
Arms shook. Wouldn’t lift me. Legs wouldn’t work. Fever making everything distant and immediate at once.
Bad. This was bad.
Tried to call out.
Nothing. Just air through a throat that couldn’t make a sound.
Needed help.
Couldn’t ask.
A lock clicked.
Body moved before thought.
Rolled to crouch despite the agony. Ribs screaming. Shoulder on fire. Hands up. Ready to fight or die trying.
Door opened.
Small woman. Dark hair loose. Blood on her coat, mine. Something in me recognized it as mine.
Bags in her hands. Sharp antiseptic smell.
She froze.
Hands came up. Empty. Non-threatening.
“Hey.” Soft voice. Steady. “It’s okay. I’m Clare. Remember?”
No.
Nothing.
But something in my chest eased when she spoke. Just slightly. The panic didn’t spike when she moved. The defensive crouch didn’t tighten to strike.
Didn’t understand it.
She took a step closer. Slow. Careful. Reading my body language like a threat assessment.
Muscles stayed locked but didn’t coil. Even holding this position hurt. Everything hurt.
“You’re safe,” she said.
The word meant nothing. But something in me quieted anyway. Instinct recognizing what memory couldn’t.
She moved closer. Those careful hands reaching.
Should run. Should fight.
Didn’t have strength for either.
Just watched. Waited. Shaking from fever and pain and exhaustion.
“I’ve got you,” she said. “You told me your name. Xavier. Do you remember?”
Xavier.
The word should connect to something. Should mean,
Nothing came. Just the sound. Empty.
Vision tunneled. Black creeping from edges. Fever dragging me down.
She kept talking. Couldn’t hear words through the roaring.
Her hands touched me.
Gentle. Not grabbing. Not restraining.
The panic that should have surged, didn’t.
Just that quiet. That easing in my chest.
Legs gave out.
Falling.
Her hands caught me. Lowered me carefully. Protecting my head. Protecting the shoulder.
Protecting me.
“I’ve got you, Xavier,” she said. Right there. Close.
Something about her voice. Her hands. The way she said my name like it mattered.
Made the falling less terrifying.
Made the pain matter less.
Darkness pulled me under.
Not drowning this time.
Just her hands, steady.
Just that quiet in my chest.
Just the sense, didn’t know why, that she wouldn’t let me fall.
Then nothing.