Mia's blood stained the floor in dark, alarming streaks. The room was still for a moment, the air thick with panic. Nawe's voice shattered the silence, sharp and urgent, snapping everyone into action. Her words—driven by desperation—pulled them all back to the reality of the situation.
James's hands shook as he lifted Mia, his eyes filled with an unfamiliar intensity. With Paul's assistance, he managed to lift her onto his back, cradling her fragile form as though she were a delicate piece of glass. The others stood frozen for a heartbeat, their faces pale, their minds racing with questions they couldn't yet answer.
Uncle Timmy and John remained motionless, trapped in the crushing weight of their guilt. Every second felt like an eternity, the air thick with unspoken words. Timmy's chest tightened as he watched James move, his face a mask of anguish. A wave of self-blame seemed to paralyze him, his mind spiraling with questions—Could he have done something? Was this his fault too? But the questions had no answers. No answers except the cold reality before him: Mia was bleeding, and it was happening again.
Timmy's feet felt like lead as he finally took a step, following James as he ran to the door. Nawe opened it wide, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear as she stepped aside to let James through.
"Help!" Uncle Timmy called, his voice cracking with panic. "Somebody, please—" But his words were drowned out by the frantic sounds of movement within the house. Only Jake emerged, followed by three women who were just as anxious, just as terrified. Their eyes were wide with worry, scanning the scene.
When Jake saw Mia, his heart sank. The sight of her—lifeless and limp on James's back—was too much to comprehend. He blinked, his mind racing to make sense of it.
"What happened?" Jake's voice cracked. "Why is she like this? Did they attack her again?" His words tumbled out, but they felt hollow, as if asking the question made the reality of the situation even harder to accept. "But she was inside… She was supposed to be safe…"
The confusion in his voice only deepened the sorrow in the room. His frantic words, stumbling as they came, reflected a sense of helplessness that mirrored the others'. Their faces were full of fear, but beneath that fear was something else—a gnawing sense of dread. It was the fear of what they hadn't yet seen. The fear of not knowing what was happening to Mia—and why James seemed so intent on keeping her alive, even when it seemed too late.
James, his face grim and hard, shook Jake roughly by the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. "Move aside," James ordered, his voice firm, no trace of uncertainty in it. "If you don't step back, we won't be able to help her." His words were sharp, urgent, and filled with the kind of intensity that was both commanding and desperate.
Jake stepped back instinctively, confusion still swirling in his mind, but now mixed with something else—something unfamiliar. Fear? Worry? James had changed. He was no longer the indifferent, often cold figure who had always kept his distance from Mia. Now, there was something else in his eyes, something protective. Something that drove him to carry her, to save her at any cost.
Nicky, who had been speaking with Jake just moments earlier, watched the scene unfold in stunned silence. His heart twisted as he observed James—his expression set, determined, and yet filled with an emotion Nicky couldn't quite place. What had happened to James? Just a few minutes ago, James had barely tolerated Mia's presence, often scowling when she was near. But now? Now he was carrying her—protecting her—as though she were the most important person in his life.
Why the change? What had shifted so quickly?
Nicky's mind raced as he followed the group, his gaze never leaving James. There was something raw about his actions, something that unsettled Nicky even more than the blood staining Mia's clothes.
Outside, the storm clouds gathered ominously in the sky, casting shadows that seemed to mirror the growing darkness inside. The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating. The house, usually a place of warmth and safety, now felt small and constricted, its walls closing in with the weight of worry. Every breath they took seemed to fill the space with dread.
James didn't speak as he ran toward the door, his steps purposeful, though his heart was hammering in his chest. He knew time was running out—If they didn't move quickly, it would be too late for Mia. The others followed him, their hearts heavy with the same fear, the same dread, but none of them dared to voice the thought that echoed in their minds. What if it was already too late?
Inside the house, the quiet tension weighed on them all. Mia's life hung in the balance, and as much as they all wanted to believe they could save her, none of them could shake the growing fear that perhaps, just perhaps, they were too late to stop what had already begun.
Nicky stood frozen at the doorway, watching as James and Nawe moved through the shadows of the hallway, their footsteps a blur of urgency.
Mia was unconscious, her breath shallow, her skin pale as the light flickered above her bed. The room felt too cold for her warmth. James's hands trembled as he laid her down, and John's silent gaze lingered, dark with a worry that seemed to speak of something deeper—something neither of them dared acknowledge aloud.
Nawe stepped forward, her eyes scanning the room like she knew exactly where everything belonged, even though she hadn't been here in years. Without a word, she grabbed the dry clothes from the sofa beside Mia's bed. Her fingers brushed against the fabric, but it was her gaze that lingered on the window—a fleeting reflection in the glass made her freeze.
A flash of lightning lit up the room, and for a moment, she saw it—a ghost of a figure standing just outside the window.
Her breath hitched. Brother... I knew you wouldn't let her be alone.
But as always, the sharp sting of forgotten promises cut through her. You never cared for me. Still, you cared for her.
With a bitter smile, Nawe spoke softly, as if the words were meant for herself alone. "I'll fix this, Mia. Don't worry. He'll rest. And I'll make sure you wake."
The wind outside howled, drowning her voice, and the image in the window vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the dark silence that seemed to press in from all sides.
In the other room, Uncle Timmy's eyes narrowed as he caught the curve of Nawe's lips, the knowing smirk that had never fully left her face. His gaze followed hers, searching the storm-darkened yard, until it landed on the shadowy figure in the distance. He wasn't sure if it was just the storm playing tricks, but he knew one thing for certain.
Alex was near.
When they all left, Nawe helped Mia change into dry clothes with the assistance of the three helpers.
James burst into his room, all force and fury, Alex didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. The same calm expression he wore every day remained fixed in place, like a mask that had been glued to his face years ago.
Alex had never been one for drama.
James grabbed him by the arm, pulling him toward the door with all the strength he could muster. "Come on, Alex. We need to talk."
Alex's black Bradstreet shoes scraped against the hardwood floor as he resisted. He wasn't going anywhere, not yet. Not while the storm raged outside. Not while there were things still left unsaid between them.
"Let go of me," Alex said, his voice as cold as the storm howling outside.
The words hit James like a slap in the face. He faltered for a moment, his grip loosening, but the anger still burned in his chest. "You don't get to ignore this, Alex. Not now."
The commotion in the room drew the attention of the others, but when Alex spoke again, his voice was sharp, venomous. "I said, let me go."
The words weren't a request. They were a warning.
James froze at the doorway, his hand still hovering in the air. A tense silence followed. Then, in one swift motion, he let go and swung a punch at Alex's jaw.
It landed with a sickening thud, and for a split second, Alex's expression shifted—his eyes narrowed, his lip curled in irritation—but he didn't respond. He didn't even raise his fists in defense.
Instead, he stood there, staring down at James with an expression that could freeze water.
"I told you," Alex said, voice low. "I'm not going anywhere."