She stepped back, pulling her coat tighter, eyes burning. She whispered like a vow, “You don’t get to erase him.”
The yellow capsolution flowed slowly through the IV. Alex twitched as his brow tightened and his mouth moved. “No... no more…” he begged. His eyes cracked open. Haunted. Unfocused. His arms flailed and legs kicked.
“Alex Marcel,” Paul called softly.
Tristan injected the purple-capped solution. The hum of machinery grew louder. Alarms chirped in irregular rhythms. The oxygen monitor beeped. IV bags swayed slightly, disturbed by the sudden movement from the hospital bed.
Alex was no longer still. His body writhed against the mattress — weak, yes, but fighting with a kind of raw, feral force that didn’t make sense for someone in his condition. He thrashed, one wrist jerking against the soft restraint.
Tristan frowned. “His temp is spiking. Vitals are everywhere.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed in alarm. “What the hell did we give him?
“The vial—purple serum. It was labeled ‘stabilization, post-cascade.’” Tristan looked worried. “I don’t think he can take more.”
Alex jerked again, this time, despite the restraints, nearly bucking himself off the bed. His eyes snapped open — wild, dilated, glassy — but focused on nothing. “No—no—don’t touch me—GET OFF?—"
Tristan held his shoulder. “We’ve got you, Alex. You're safe. No one’s hurting you.”
Alex lunged violently to the side, mouth opening in a snarl, a broken shout tearing from deep in his throat. His strength was terrifying—surging from somewhere buried beyond exhaustion.
“Restraints were a good call.” Paul’s voice was hoarse. “They're the only thing keeping him from tearing out the central line.”
Alex thrashed again. Charlotte couldn’t bear not doing something. She crossed to the bed in three steps. “Alex. Alex, it’s me, Charlotte. I’m right here.”
Noah moved to the opposite side of the bed. “Hey, brother. I could fry an egg on your chest. I’m here with you.”
Ethan joined him, trying to conjure a happy thought. “You’re going to look incredible dancing with Charlotte at Liv’s wedding.”
Alex continued to fight. “Don’t let her—don’t let her inside.”
Charlotte placed her palm on his hot skin. “Look at me. Look at me, Alex. You're out. You’re safe. It’s Charlotte.”
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. A moment of clarity. Then it was gone.
Noah placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder—just enough pressure to ground him, not control him. “Hey. It’s me, man. You remember? Storm at the lake house? You said you could beat me at poker with one hand, and you still lost.”
Alex stirred, his fists clenching and unclenching.
Charlotte pressed her lips to his scalding forehead. “You held on this long. Don't let them take the last piece. Not now. I’m right here. We’re all here.”
Alex jerked once more, hard — then he stilled, shivering violently. His head turned slightly toward the sound of Charlotte’s voice.
His lips moved. A whisper. “…Char…” His breathing slowed. The tremors lessened, just enough for the team to look at each other with cautious hope.
“He’s coming back down,” Paul noted.
Charlotte was shattered. “Stay with me. Please, Alex. Just stay with me.”
They watched as Alex finally went limp—his body not unconscious but caught in a fragile moment of surrender. Not peace. Not yet. But the fight was paused.
Noah rolled a stool toward Charlotte.“Sit, before you fall down.”
Charlotte was going to fight but gave in. She rolled toward Alex. Tristan held up the orange-capped vial. “This is the last dose. The directions say you have to be present when we give it.”
Charlotte’s hand trembled, but she nodded and interlaced her fingers with Alex’s.
Tristan paused. “This is the last dose the protocols give us, but… Charlotte, this is still the beginning.”
