Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Icouldn't remember the last time I'd slept in my own bed.
The twin mattress in Stone's observation room had become home.
I woke there, studied there, fell asleep to the sound of his breathing through the barrier.
The bed in my dorm room felt foreign now — too soft, too far from him, too quiet without the hum of medical equipment and the steady pulse of our bond.
Ivy had stopped asking when I'd be back. She just left notes on my pillow: Eat something. I covered for you with Professor Larkin.
I read them when I stumbled in for fresh clothes. Left them unanswered.
"Lumi."
Professor Tomlinson's voice cut through the fog in my brain. I blinked, realized I'd been staring at the same page of my textbook for the past ten minutes. The words had stopped making sense somewhere around page three.
"Yes?"
"Class ended five minutes ago."
I looked around. The lecture hall was empty. Students had filtered out while I sat here, lost in the grey static that had replaced my thoughts.
"Right." I gathered my books with hands that trembled slightly. "Sorry. I was just—"
"You were sleeping with your eyes open." Tomlinson's voice was dry. "A useful skill, but perhaps not during my lectures. Do you need to come back and have dinner with us so you get a full night's rest?"
Heat crept up my neck. "No, I fine—"
"Go home. Eat something. Sleep somewhere that isn't a chair or I will tell Rae." He paused at the door. "The ferals will still need you tomorrow. They won't need you at all if you collapse."
He left before I could respond.
I sat in the empty lecture hall for another five minutes, trying to gather enough energy to stand.
Ivy was waiting outside.
She fell into step beside me without a word, her presence a familiar comfort even through the exhaustion.
We walked in silence for a while — past the library, past the dining hall where the smell of food made my stomach turn, past the clusters of students who parted around us like water around stones.
"You look like death," Ivy said finally.
"Thanks."
"I mean it." She caught my arm, pulled me to a stop.
Her eyes swept over me — the shadows under my eyes, the way my clothes hung loose, the tremor in my hands I couldn't quite hide.
"When did you last eat? And don't say the granola bar from the vending machine, because I know that's all you've had in two days. "
I tried to remember. The oatmeal Neal had brought. That had been... yesterday? The day before?
"I've been busy."
"You've been killing yourself." Ivy's voice was sharp.
She stepped closer, her expression softening. "Lumi. Look at me."
I did. It took more effort than it should have.
"I don't know what's happening in that building," she said quietly.
"I don't understand half of what you're doing or why.
But I know you. I know you'll run yourself into the ground for people you love.
" She squeezed my arm. "I'm asking you — as your friend, as someone who cares about you — please stop.
Just for a day. Let someone else carry the weight. "
My throat tightened. "I can't."
"You can. You're choosing not to." Her jaw hardened. "And if you won't choose differently, I'll make the choice for you. I'll call Rae. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you from—"
"Ivy." My voice cracked. "Please. I just need to get through the next three weeks. Then I'll rest. I promise."
She stared at me for a long moment. Whatever she saw made her shoulders sag.
"Three weeks," she said. "And then I'm dragging you to our dorm and force-feeding you chocolate until you remember what it feels like to be human."
Something like a smile tugged at my mouth. "Deal."
She hugged me — fierce, brief, worried. Then she let me go.
"Eat something," she called after me. "I'll know if you don't."
I waved without turning around.
I didn't eat anything.
James was waiting in Cal's room when I stopped by to check on him.
He looked up when I entered, and I felt his reaction through the bond before I saw it on his face — the sharp spike of worry, the frustration that followed. His eyes swept over me the same way Ivy's had, cataloging the damage.
"Lumi." His voice was rough.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." He stood, crossed the room in three strides. His hands found my face, tilting it up to the light. "When did you last sleep? Real sleep, not whatever you're doing in that observation room."
"I sleep."
"You pass out from exhaustion. That's not the same thing." His thumb traced the shadow under my eye. "I can feel you through the bond, you know. The headaches. The dizziness. The way your body is screaming at you to stop."
I closed my eyes. Let myself lean into his touch, just for a moment.
"I know," I whispered. "I know it's bad. But Stone is finally making progress. He slept while I was there, James. Actually slept. I can't stop now."
"You can." His voice softened. "You just won't."
"Same thing."
"It's not." He pulled me against his chest, wrapped his arms around me. I felt the tension in him — the need to fix this, to protect me from myself. "I want to be angry with you. I am angry with you. But I also understand why you're doing it."
"That's very mature of you."
"Don't get used to it."
I laughed weakly against his shirt. He smelled like pine and warmth and safety. I wanted to stay here forever.
"Eat something," he said. "For me. Please."
"I will."
Cal noticed too.
I felt his guilt through the bond — a constant, grinding weight that had nothing to do with my exhaustion and everything to do with it. He watched me with those golden eyes, and I knew what he was thinking without him having to say it.
"It's not your fault," I told him during one of my visits to the east wing.
He made a sound. Disagreement.
"Cal." I crouched down beside him, ran my fingers through his fur. "I chose this. I chose to go up that mountain. I chose to bring them back. None of that is on you."
He pressed his head against my thigh.
"I'm doing what needs to be done."
Neal avoided me.
Ever since the kiss — that desperate, wall-slamming, world-ending kiss — he'd kept his distance. Professional when we crossed paths. Clinical when he had to check on Stone or the other ferals. Never alone with me.
I felt his want through the bond. Constant, denied, painful. He was punishing himself for losing control. Punishing both of us.
It made everything harder.
I needed him. Not just physically — though god, my body hadn't forgotten the way he'd felt against me — but practically. He was the doctor. He was supposed to be monitoring my health, making sure I didn't collapse.
Instead, he watched from a distance. Made notes on his tablet. Frowned at readings he didn't like but never confronted me about.
I was leaving Stone's room when Neal appeared in the corridor.
He looked worse than I'd ever seen him. The dark circles under his eyes matched mine. His coat was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, his jaw shadowed with stubble he hadn't bothered to shave.
"Lumi."
I stopped. My heart rate spiked, and I knew he could hear it. Could probably read it on whatever medical device he had tucked in his pocket.
"Neal." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Did you need something?"
"Yes." He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell him — antiseptic and coffee and something underneath that was just him. "I need you to stop."
"Stop what?"
"All of it." His voice was harsh. Raw. "The skipped meals. The sleepless nights. The slow, systematic destruction of your own body."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not fine." He grabbed my arm, and the contact sent electricity shooting through both of us.
I saw him feel it — the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath caught.
But he didn't let go. "Your weight is down twelve pounds from when this started.
Your blood pressure is erratic. Your cortisol levels are through the roof.
You're showing early signs of malnutrition, Lumi. Malnutrition."
"I'll eat more—"
"You'll eat now." His grip tightened. "You'll sleep now. Tonight. A full eight hours in an actual bed, not that cot I put in the observation room." His voice dropped, dangerous. "Or I sedate you myself."
I stared at him.
The bond between us was screaming. His want, his fear, his desperate need to take care of me warring with his determination to keep his distance. He was breaking his own rules just by being here. Just by touching me.
"Neal," I whispered.
"Don't." His jaw clenched. "Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to—"
I collapsed.
Not on purpose. My legs just... stopped working. The exhaustion I'd been holding at bay for days crashed over me like a wave, and suddenly the floor was rushing up to meet me.
Neal caught me.
His arms wrapped around me, taking my weight, pulling me against his chest. I heard him curse — creative, explicit, very un-doctorly — and then I was being lifted. Cradled against him like I weighed nothing.
"I'm fine," I mumbled. "Just tired."
"You just passed out in a corridor."
"I didn't pass out. I... sat down quickly."
"You're impossible." But his arms tightened around me. "I'm taking you somewhere you can actually rest."
"The observation room—"
"Not the observation room. Somewhere with no barriers, no medical equipment, no ferals to worry about." He was already walking, carrying me through corridors I didn't recognize. "My cabin. You're sleeping in an actual bed tonight if I have to tie you to it."
The image that conjured made heat bloom in my cheeks, even through the exhaustion.
"That's... a threat?"
Neal looked down at me. His eyes were dark. Hungry. The professional mask had cracked, and what was underneath made my breath catch.
"It's a promise," he said.
Neal's cabin was small.
Few rooms. A bed that took up half the space — larger than I'd expected, covered in a dark quilt. A desk piled with medical journals. A tiny kitchen that looked unused. A door that probably led to a bathroom.