Chapter 17 #2
“That’s why I want him to burn.” Havoc picked up the blade again.
Didn’t resume. “Hellhound thinks we can save everyone, give them new lives, help them heal. Maybe he’s right about some of them.
But Dresner?” His knuckles whitened around the handle.
“He doesn’t get redemption. He doesn’t get a trial.
He gets my hands around his throat and whatever comes after that. ”
The fury beneath those words felt volcanic. Personal.
“What did he take from you specifically?”
Havoc’s jaw tightened. “Nothing I’m discussing with you.”
“Fair enough.”
I didn’t push. Whatever Dresner had done to Havoc ran deeper than conditioning or memory loss. Something that left scars on his very soul.
The quiet between us shifted, not uncomfortable, heavy with things neither of us wanted to examine.
Behind me, the axe stopped.
I turned. Xavier stood with the blade hanging in his grip, watching us. Sweat darkened his thermal shirt despite the cold. His expression was unreadable, except for the intensity when he found me.
Havoc noticed. Grinned. “Your guard dog is getting jealous.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, if looks could kill...”
“They can. And if you keep talking, you’ll find out exactly how lethal he is.”
Havoc laughed. Actually laughed. “I like you more every conversation.”
Xavier crossed the distance between us in four long strides. He didn’t acknowledge Havoc. Didn’t acknowledge the comment. Just kept watching me.
Just held me like I might disappear if he let go.
Havoc stood, brushing shavings from his jeans. “I’ll leave you two alone. Walls are thin, remember? Try to keep it down next time.”
He walked away before I could throw something at him.
Xavier’s hand came up, fingers threading through my hair with careful gentleness.
His mouth moved. Formed my name.
“Clare.”
The word came rough. Raspy. Like gravel and broken glass. But it was there, real, spoken.
My ribs compressed. “You’re starting to get it back.”
Xavier’s gaze widened slightly. He opened his mouth again. Tried.
“C...” The sound caught. Broke. He swallowed hard. Tried again. “Clare.”
Rough as gravel. Barely more than a rasp. But real.
My name in his voice.
Pressure built behind my lids. I pressed my palm to his sternum, felt his pulse hammering. “Keep going. Try something else.”
His brow furrowed in concentration. Lips formed shapes. Testing.
“I...” He managed. Then choked on the next word. His hand flew to his throat.
“Slow. Don’t force it.”
He tried anyway. Stubborn bastard.
“I... w-want...” His voice cracked. Dissolved into coughing that made him double over.
I rubbed his back. Felt the muscles spasm under my palm. “Easy. Breathe.”
The coughing fit lasted thirty seconds. When it finally subsided, Xavier straightened slowly. His hand still pressed to his throat. Watering.
Frustrated. Furious at his own body’s betrayal.
I cupped his jaw. Made him look at me. “Hey. This is huge. You couldn’t speak at all yesterday. Now you can say words. Plural.”
He grabbed the notepad from my other hand. Scribbled: Not enough.
“It’s more than we had.” I traced my thumb along his cheekbone. “Your vocal cords are loosening. That’s a major improvement.”
Xavier’s jaw tightened. He wrote again: Need to warn you. Tell you things. Can’t do that one word at a time.
The desperation there made my throat ache.
“You will. Just... be patient. Let your throat recover between attempts. Don’t push so hard you damage something.”
He looked like he wanted to argue. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally nodded.
Smart man.
Xavier settled onto the stump Havoc had vacated. Pulled me between his knees. His arms came around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.
Warm. Solid. Real.
I leaned back against him. Let myself have this moment. This brief peace before reality crashed back in.
“Headache bad?” I asked quietly.
He held up four fingers against my stomach.
Scale of one to ten. The usual average.
“Any nausea? Dizziness? Visual disturbances?”
He shook his head.
“Good. That’s good.” I covered his fingers with mine. “We need to be careful, though. The symptoms will get worse. Hellhound warned us, seizures, cognitive breaks, violent dissociation.”
Xavier’s arms tightened.
“I’m not going anywhere. I just need you to understand that if you hurt me during an episode, I won’t hold it against you. You won’t be in control. It won’t be your fault.”
He pulled back. Turned me to face him. Determination burned there, fierce and desperate.
The words wouldn’t come. But his expression said everything.
I would never hurt you. Never.
“I know you wouldn’t. Not on purpose.” I cupped his face. “But the PSI-317 overdose is destroying your brain tissue. You might not recognize me. Might think I’m a threat. I need to be prepared for that possibility.”
His jaw clenched. Terror flickered across his features.
“We’ll figure it out. We have two weeks. Maybe three. And I’m going to keep you alive for every single day of it.”
Xavier leaned forward. Pressed his forehead to mine. Breathed.
Just breathed.
I closed my lids. Felt his pulse against my palms. Felt the cold air biting my cheeks. Felt the weight of two weeks pressing down.
We stayed like that. Connected. Grounded.
I was about to suggest going back inside when Xavier jerked.
His whole body went rigid. Pupils rolled back.
“Xavier?”
He convulsed. Violent. His arms flew out, nearly hitting me. I stumbled back, knee screaming protest.
“HAVOC!” My voice carried across the frozen yard. “HELLHOUND!”
Xavier hit the ground. His back arched. Limbs thrashing. Head slamming against frozen earth.
Tonic-clonic seizure.
I dropped beside him. Rolled him onto his side. Protected his skull with my palms while his body seized.
Time the episode. Protect the airway. Don’t restrain.
My nurse training kicked in automatic, but my fingers were shaking.
Thirty seconds. Forty-five. A minute.
The convulsions started to slow. His muscles relaxing incrementally.
Havoc appeared. Dropped to his knees across from me. “How long?”
“Ninety seconds. Maybe more.” I kept my hand on Xavier’s skull. “First one I’ve witnessed.”
“It won’t be the last.” Hellhound’s voice came from behind us. Calm. Steady. “The overdose is accelerating.”
Xavier’s lids fluttered. Unfocused. Confused.
Post-ictal state. Normal after seizures. Disorientation, memory loss, exhaustion.
“Xavier.” I kept my voice soft. “Can you hear me?”
He found me. Struggled to focus.
Then drifted away again. Searching the space around us like he didn’t recognize where he was.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. You had a seizure, but you’re safe now.”
His mouth moved. Shaping words I couldn’t hear at first.
Then: “Mae...”
He stopped. Confusion flickered across his face.
“What?” I leaned closer. “Xavier, what did you say?”
He found me again. Lost. Terrified.
“Maeve.” The word came out broken. Barely audible.
My stomach dropped.
“Who’s Maeve?”
But Xavier had already closed off. His breathing evening out into unconsciousness.
I looked up at Havoc. “Who the hell is Maeve?”
Havoc’s expression was grim. “I don’t know. But if he’s remembering names...”
“His past is coming back,” Hellhound finished quietly. “Along with everything Oblivion tried to erase.”
I stared down at Xavier’s unconscious form. At the man I’d been falling for without permission. The man who’d said my name last night like it was the only word that mattered.
And now he was calling for someone else.
A woman named Maeve.