Page 63 of Fallen Heir
And through the chaos, I saw him.
Jaxson.
His hand was wrapped around Alex’s throat, lifting him clean off the ground like he weighed nothing. His face was twisted in fury—dark, controlled,lethal.I tried to speak, to reach for him, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.
Ben’s voice rang out behind them, sharp and edged like steel, but I couldn’t make out the words. Everything was static and noise. My brain couldn’t keep up, couldn’t hold onto anything. The whole room pulsed in and out of focus.
Then one voice cut through.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t take your life now.”
I didn’t know who said it.
Jaxson? Ben?
Both?
I blinked hard, trying to find clarity, to remember what had just happened—but nothing made sense. Alex’s words kept bouncing through my skull.
Divorce papers?
My breath hitched. My chest seized. I didn’t understand.
And I didn’t have the strength left to try.
So I let go.
I let the darkness take me under.
I woke to a sound—soft and steady, rhythmic in a way that tugged me back toward consciousness.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was distant at first, like it existed in another room, another world. But with each passing second, it grew louder, more defined.
My head felt heavy. My limbs, like they were filled with lead. Everything ached—not sharp, but dull and deep, like I’d been hit by something too big to remember.
I blinked against the light above me, squinting until the haze began to clear. The ceiling was unfamiliar. Sterile. White tiles and shadows. The smell was clean and artificial, sharp with antiseptic.
A hospital.
I tried to move, just a little, just enough to sit up, but the motion sent a wave of pain rippling down my spine. I winced, my breath catching in my throat.
Then I saw him.
Ben sat across the room in a vinyl chair, slouched low, arms crossed. His head rested against the wall, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. Even in sleep, he looked like a guard dog—still, alert, ready.
The sight of him soothed something in me I hadn’t even realized was still panicking. If Ben was here… I had made it out. Somehow.
A flicker of movement beside me drew my eyes to the left. A hand rested gently on my shoulder—warm, familiar.
“Don’t,” came the voice, soft but firm.
I turned my head slowly, careful not to provoke the pain again.
Jaxson stood beside me, his hand still resting on me, grounding me. His eyes were shadowed, jaw tight, but his presence was like gravity—pulling me back to solid ground.
“Get some rest,” he said, voice low and rough. “You have a concussion.”
