Keifer POV
She fell asleep fast. Like her body had been waiting for permission. Like the second I laid beside her, she let go.
She looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like she wasn't about to fight for her life. Like she wasn't scared. Like she wasn't breaking.
Just looking at her made my chest ache. Made my throat tighten. Made me want to scream into a pillow, punch a wall, and hold her tighter all at once.
I didn't cry. Not out loud. But the tears came anyway.
She shifted in her sleep. Just a little. Her hand found mine again. Even unconscious, she reached for me.
I stayed still. Didn't move. Didn't breathe too loud.
Because if this was the last quiet moment before the storm— I wanted to memorize it.
The door creaked open. Soft. Careful. But I still tensed.
Jare stepped in. Voice low. Controlled.
"Keifer," he said. "They want to talk about the first dose."
I looked down at her. Still asleep. Still curled into me like the world wasn't falling apart.
I moved slowly. Like every shift might wake her. Like every breath might break the moment.
She didn't stir. Just sighed in her sleep. Soft. Fragile.
I brushed her hair back gently. Whispered, "I'll be right back."
Then I followed Jare out. Heart heavy. Hands cold.
Because talking about the first dose meant facing it. And I wasn't ready. But I'd do it anyway.
We walked down the hall. Each step felt heavier than the last. Like the air knew what we were about to hear.
Jare didn't speak. Neither did I. There was nothing left to say.
We reached Dr. Paralta's office. Door closed. Of course it was.
Jare glanced at me. I nodded.
He opened the door.
Dr. Paralta looked up from her desk. Clipboard in hand. Eyes steady. Like she'd been waiting.
"Come in," she said. Her voice was calm. Too calm.
We stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind us.
And suddenly, it felt like the world had narrowed to this room.
This moment.
"Do you want to start her treatment tomorrow?" she asked.
"That early?" My voice cracked. I didn't mean it to.
"We can't wait anymore," she said. "I'm pretty sure she's already been through immense pain."
I looked down. At my hands. At the floor. Anywhere but her eyes.
How did she manage to smile every time her body hurt?
How did she laugh when she could barely stand?
How did she tease Percy when she was shaking?
How did she hold my hand like she wasn't terrified?
"She's stronger than she looks," I whispered.
Dr. Paralta nodded. "She always has been."
"The treatment lasts at least two weeks," she said.
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Every one of them a war.
"I won't lie," she continued. "It's going to test her body. A lot."
She looked at me. Not with pity. With truth.
"This isn't a disease an eighteen-year-old should have to fight."
I swallowed hard. My throat burned. My chest felt too small.
"She's already in pain," I said. "She hides it. But I see it."
Dr. Paralta nodded. "She's been hiding it for a while."
I thought about her smile.
The way she laughed when Percy was being ridiculous.
The way she teased me even when her hands were shaking.
How did she do that? How did she smile when her body was screaming?
"She's stronger than all of us," Jare said quietly.
I didn't argue. Because he was right.
Dr. Paralta looked at us. No softness. No sugarcoating.
"But I have to warn you," she said. "Once we start, we can't stop."
I nodded slowly. Already knew that part. Already hated it.
"And like I said before," she continued, "There's only a twenty-five percent chance she might live."
The words didn't echo. They landed. Hard. Final.
Jare didn't speak. I couldn't.
Twenty-five percent.
One in four.
Three chances she won't make it.
One chance she will.
I thought about her smile.
Her laugh.
The way she curled into me like she trusted me to keep her safe.
How do you protect someone from math like that?
"She knows?" I asked, voice barely there.
Dr. Paralta nodded. "She didn't flinch."
Of course she didn't. She's Jay. She flinches at celery, not death.
"So," Dr. Paralta said, "Do you want to start the treatment?"
I nodded. Didn't trust my voice. Didn't want it to crack.
"Great," she said, sliding a clipboard across the desk. "Sign these papers, and we'll begin."
I stared at the stack.
Legal words.
Medical terms.
Warnings.
None of it mattered. Not really.
Jare picked up the pen. His hand shook. Just a little.
He signed.
Because this was it. The beginning. The fight. The hope.
He handed the clipboard back.
Didn't say a word.
Didn't need to.
Dr. Paralta nodded.
"Prep starts tonight. First dose at sunrise."
Sunrise.
Like it was poetic.
Like it wasn't terrifying.
We stepped out of her office.
The hallway felt colder.
Longer.
Like the walls knew what we'd just agreed to.
Jare walked ahead.
I stayed behind.
Needed a second.
Needed to breathe.
Twenty-five percent.
That number wouldn't leave me alone.
It clung to my ribs like guilt.
I leaned against the wall. Closed my eyes.
Thought about her laugh.
Her voice.
Her hand in mine.
She didn't flinch. She never does.
But I did. I flinched for both of us.
Then I pushed off the wall.
Walked back to her room.
Because if this was the beginning— I needed to be there when she woke up.