[Niall's POV]

I burst through the front door. All was quiet for several moments, like the house was sleeping—or dead.

No. Not dead. I didn’t like that thought.

“Niall!”

Parker’s voice broke the silence. It was high, thin, and cracking.

“I’m here!” I called back, making a beeline for the kitchen.

I was moving fast, but everything seemed to go in slow motion. My pulse drummed in my ears and pounded in my chest. I didn’t know what I would find in the kitchen, but dozens of images flashed through my mind. My blood still felt like ice, and my stomach had a hollow, queasy feeling, like I was falling from somewhere high up. Part of me wondered if this was even happening. Everything was surreal, and in a way, that was almost a comfort. If I could imagine that this was a bad dream, or even a hallucination, that would still be a thousand times better than it being real.

No such luck, though.

Sybil’s back was turned to me, and she sat on one side of Dee, with Parker on the other. Apparently, they took it pretty seriously when I said to elevate Dee’s chest and head, as they had her propped up on both pillows and couch cushions.

She was still unconscious. Her skin was pale, but sported an array of new colors around the wound above her eyebrow. Blacks and blues were beginning to form like a halo, and a thin, red sheen had dried from her forehead to her cheek. I was thankful to note that at least the wound was scabbing and the rag Sybil used to apply pressure was no longer needed.

Parker leaped up when he saw me and barreled into my stomach, clutching me in a hug. His face was swollen and his eyes were puffy. Streaks formed patterns on his cheeks where tears had fallen, and the space between his nose and lips gleamed with snot. Numbly, I put my arms around him. I held him there and let him sob into my shirt, but I couldn’t take my gaze off Dee.

Dee normally looks small. She is 4’10, so that really can’t be helped. But seeing her lying on the floor, unconscious, pale, and dwarfed by cushions was the smallest I had ever seen her look. My chest felt like someone took an ice-pick to it. I wanted to cradle her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay and for that to be true. I wanted to protect her from whatever was causing this, but there was absolutely nothing I could do.

Eventually, I managed to pull my gaze away and took a look around the kitchen. The first thing that caught my attention was the blood. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. There was a smear of blood on the edge of the counter, and a large pool of it on the floor. The dark liquid stood in stark contrast to the white kitchen tiles, but seemed to mingle with the grout, staining it pink. The coppery smell was heavy in the air. I felt dizzy. I didn’t know what to expect when Sybil called, but she was right—it was a lot of blood.

I swallowed and looked to the counter, where a collection of food items sat. My first assumption, given the time, was that Dee had been making herself either breakfast or lunch. But then I realized that the main item was chicken, which she couldn’t eat. Was she trying to make supper for us when this happened? A mixture of guilt and frustration bubbled in my chest at the thought.

Finally, I looked down at Sybil and met her gaze. Her expression was unreadable, as it so often defaulted to being. Even as a little kid, she did that. During the year and half we were on the streets after escaping the lab, her face was locked in that hard, stoic expression more than not. When we finally had a place of our own, she started to open up more, but every now and then, she retreated back into that hard mask of indifference. On the phone, she had been panicked, but now looked like a statue in every way except that she breathed. Even as I feared for Dee, concern for both Sybil and Parker hit me like a brick.

I leaned down to kiss Parker’s head, and then Sybil’s. “You guys did a good job,” I told them.

Parker stepped back, rubbing his eyes taking in deep, sharp breaths as he nodded. Sybil looked down at Dee again, a crack of emotion returning to her face.

“She was stirring a little a few minutes ago, but hasn’t woken up yet,” Sybil said, her voice strained.

I nodded and crouched next to her, examining Dee as much as I knew how to with exactly zero medical training besides what information I could find online. The injury was swollen, but I was glad that I didn’t see an indentation. Her bones are light and spongy, like mine; it’s great for getting airborne, but not great if you don’t want to get fractures easily. Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case. There was no bruising under her eyes or around her ears. No blood from any orifices. She had been unconscious for a while though, and that was not a good sign.

“Hey, Dee,” I said a little louder than I normally might. I hesitated, but then jostled her arm.

No response.

“Hey, Dee, wake up.” I nudged her arm again.

Still nothing.

For a moment, a surge of adrenaline hit me, and I considered breaking the agreement we made about medical treatment. I could load Dee up in my truck, drive to one of the nearby towns, hide our faces, and use one of the guns we had for protection to “persuade” a vet to treat her and remain silent about the affair.

I sighed. No. That wasn’t an option. I loved Dee, but I couldn’t justify putting the kids, or even the vet, in danger by doing that.

Instead, I fetched a fresh rag and wet it, dabbing her head and continuing to say her name. I had just gotten the residual blood off of Dee’s cheek when her eye twitched. She began to stir, and her face contorted into a pained expressed. She let out a hiss and then a low groan.

“Ow. Fuck.”

Relief flooded me and I heard my laughter before I realized I was the one making the sound. Not that I was entertained, I was just so happy that she was waking up. Although, Dee tried hard to resist cursing around the kids, so the F-bomb registered as kind of funny in the part of my mind that wasn’t consumed with elated consolation.

Dee’s eyes snapped open to immediately shoot a glare my way, but as soon as she took in the light in the kitchen, she winced and shielded her eyes with one arm, head jerking away from the light source.

“Dee!” Parker abruptly cried, throwing himself forward to grasp her in as awkward of a hug as her position would allow.

“Easy, buddy!” I warned, reaching a hand out, but too late.

Dee stiffened with a grunt, and pulled her arm away from her face. Confusion spread across her features as she looked down at Parker, then to me, and finally to Sybil, who sat on my right, stiff and frozen in place. Dee squinted now, the light still seeming to bother her. She slowly lowered her arm and patted Parker’s shoulder.

“Hey,” she croaked.

Parker remained there for a moment and then pulled back and wiped his tears on his shirt sleeve. He lifted his hand, extending four fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he demanded.

“Er—four,” Dee replied slowly, her gaze dazed and pained, but able to focus.

Parker beamed and looked at me for reassurance, as if we had just gotten the best news. I managed a small smile that felt more like I was just twitching my lips.

“What—what’s going on?” Dee murmured.

Sybil responded before I could. “You passed out.” Her tone was sharp and accusatory. Since Dee got sick, Sybil had been concerned. Dee didn’t want her to worry and tried to play everything off, but Sybil knew better. I didn’t blame her for being irritated, because it was annoying as all hell, but I did put my hand on her shoulder to stop her from saying anything further. Now wasn’t the time.

For a moment, fear flashed across Dee’s face. She looked to me, and when I didn’t contradict Sybil’s reply, she blinked and her expression faded into one that just barely suppressed her concern.

“Oh.”