My voice felt unfamiliar—distant, like it had been buried under something heavy for far too long. I tried to steady it, but it came out thin. Fragile.
"The journal?"
Jason nodded slowly, like he'd been holding those words inside for longer than he dared admit. His gaze locked on mine, steady and unflinching.
"Your mother's journal. I need it."
I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat—somewhere between disbelief and something darker.
"I told you… she died of cancer. She didn't leave behind secrets, Jason. She left me."
My voice cracked on the last word, a raw edge slipping through. "She left me alone."
Still, Jason didn't flinch. His eyes softened, but the intensity remained.
"She used to write, didn't she?"
I turned away, my heart pressing hard against my ribs.
"She said it was her way of remembering," I murmured. "Said it made the loneliness quieter."
Jason's voice dropped, urgent now, but controlled.
"She was silenced, Janica. She knew something. That journal isn't just memories. It's evidence."
I turned to him, confusion tightening my brow.
"How do you even know about the journal?"
His jaw tightened.
"There was a day. She asked to meet. We were at a small café near the university. You weren't there. She said… she wanted to talk about you. About things she'd seen."
My arms folded across my chest.
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I didn't know how." He raked a hand down his face. "She went to the washroom. Left her notebook. I glanced at one page."
"You read it," I said flatly.
He nodded. "I did. I'm sorry."
My heart thundered.
"You read it, and then what? Just… kept it to yourself?"
"It mattered. I just didn't know what to do."
I scoffed, shaking my head.
"And your response was silence. Brilliant."
"Janica—"
"Don't." My voice broke. "You should've told me. From the beginning."
He opened his mouth, but the words died there.
Then—the door creaked open.
The nurse who stepped in wasn't the calm professional from earlier. Her face was pale. Her grip on the chart looked unsteady, like she was holding on to it to keep from falling apart.
"There's a problem," she said, her voice strained.
Jason moved fast. He pushed the blinds aside, eyes narrowing at something beyond the window.
"There's a car across the street," the nurse whispered. "Been there for two hours. One man. Dark glasses. Hasn't moved."
A chill traced down my spine, the hairs on my neck standing. Something was wrong.
The nurse turned to me, fumbling with her phone.
"And someone just tried to authorize your transfer to another hospital."
I blinked. "By who?"
She hesitated.
"The name they used… was your mother's."
The floor seemed to shift. My stomach twisted. I clutched the bed to steady myself, but the room tilted, spinning out of control.
Jason was at my side in an instant.
His hand gripped mine—warm, firm, grounding. Then, without a word, he pulled me gently against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, solid and sure, like a shield.
I pressed my face against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It anchored me.
"How is that possible?" I whispered.
Jason's jaw tensed. I felt it in the way his whole body stiffened.
"They're coming for you, Janica," he said, low and urgent.
A knot twisted in my gut. Pain flared through my shoulder—sharp, relentless.
"Then we don't let them," I whispered, teeth clenched through the pain.
Jason's eyes met mine—hard, unwavering.
"We need a nurse's coat. And a wheelchair."
The nurse looked startled.
"For what?"
Jason's voice was firm, final.
"It's the only chance we've got."
What followed was a blur.
The coat—too big, too stiff—was draped over my shoulders. Jason's grip never left mine, a lifeline in the chaos. My shoulder throbbed, each jolt of pain syncing with the frantic rhythm of my heart.
The hallway stretched endlessly, a sterile maze. My steps were unsteady. The walls pressed in. Each echoing footstep sounded too loud, like we were announcing our escape.
By the time we reached the basement garage, I was trembling.
The brightness of the hospital gave way to flickering fluorescent light. The air was heavy with the scent of oil and concrete. Shadows clung to the corners like watchers.
Jason moved with purpose. Eyes sharp. Every muscle ready.
"We move fast," he said. "No hesitation. No stops."
Then—
Headlights sliced through the dark.
A man stepped forward. Tall. Coat flaring. His silhouette sharp against the dimness.
He raised his hands.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, voice calm, steady. "I'm here to help, Janica. Please. Let me."
Jason's gun was out before I could blink.
But the man didn't flinch. His eyes found mine—sharp, knowing.
"Your mother trusted me. She told me… if anything ever happened to her, you'd come looking for the truth."
Jason's grip on the gun didn't loosen.
"What the hell is this?"
The man's voice didn't waver.
"She knew what was coming. She made
sure you'd have help."
I stood frozen.
This man… knew her. Knew me.
And suddenly, everything I thought I understood was unraveling.