Morning arrived without mercy.
It crept into the house like an intruder, pale gold fingers slipping through the thin gap between curtain and wall, touching things that were not ready to be seen yet. Nyx was half-awake when the sound came—not loud, not violent, but wrong. A dull, hollow thud echoed through the living room, followed by a sound that was closer to a breath being torn apart than anything human.
Nyx sat up instantly.
For a second, his mind refused to assemble the noise into meaning. Then instinct took over. His bare feet hit the floor as he ran, heart already hammering as if it knew what waited before his eyes did.
Raym Gald lay on the floor beside the old armchair.
His father's back was curved unnaturally, one hand clawing at his chest, the other digging into the carpet as if trying to anchor himself to the world. His face had drained of color, lips tinged faintly blue, breaths shallow and uneven—each one a struggle that looked like it might be his last.
"Dad!"
The word tore itself from Nyx's throat as he dropped to his knees beside him. His hands shook violently as he tried to lift Raym's shoulders, but his father's body felt frighteningly heavy, frighteningly fragile.
Raym's eyes fluttered open for a fraction of a second. There was recognition there. And fear.
Nyx felt something inside him crack.
Nia was already moving. She appeared from the kitchen doorway like a blade drawn clean from its sheath, her earlier softness gone, replaced by absolute clarity. She knelt beside them, fingers immediately finding Raym's pulse, her jaw tightening.
"Nyx," she said sharply, grounding him with her voice alone. "Call the ambulance. Now."
For one terrifying second, Nyx couldn't move.
The world had narrowed to the sound of his father's labored breathing and the roaring of blood in his ears. His hands felt numb, foreign. It took effort—actual, conscious effort—to reach for his phone.
He fumbled it twice before managing to dial.
His voice barely sounded like his own as he spoke to the operator, words tumbling over each other, breath hitching uncontrollably. He couldn't stop staring at Raym's face, couldn't stop thinking that this was how things ended—suddenly, quietly, without permission.
Sirens came too fast and not fast enough.
Red and blue lights flooded the house, painting the walls in violent color. Paramedics moved with brutal efficiency, lifting Raym onto the stretcher, securing straps, fixing oxygen tubes over his mouth and nose.
Nyx followed helplessly, fingers clutching at empty air as they wheeled his father away.
Nia's hand found his shoulder and stayed there—firm, anchoring. She leaned close enough that only he could hear her.
"Stay calm," she whispered. "He'll be fine."
But Nyx saw it then—the tightness around her eyes, the way her jaw was set just a little too hard.
She was afraid too.
The hospital swallowed them whole.
White corridors stretched endlessly in every direction, lit by lights too bright and too cold. The air smelled like antiseptic and loss, like things scrubbed clean after they were broken. Nyx paced outside the ICU doors, steps uneven, movements restless. He couldn't sit. Every time he tried, it felt like giving up.
Each beep from inside the ward struck him like a hammer.
Nia stayed close, offering water he didn't drink, words he barely heard. Time warped into something unrecognizable—minutes stretched into hours, seconds collapsed into nothing.
When the ICU doors finally opened, Nyx froze.
The doctor stepped out slowly, his expression guarded, professional—but not gentle. Nyx's heart slammed against his ribs.
"He's stable," the doctor said at last. "But it was close."
The breath Nyx had been holding escaped him in a broken sound. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the nearest chair, face buried in his hands. Hot tears spilled through his fingers before he could stop them.
Nia knelt in front of him, taking his trembling hands in hers.
"He's strong," she said softly. "He'll make it."
That was when Stacy arrived.
Her hair was hastily tied back, eyes red, breath uneven as she rushed toward him. The moment Nyx saw her, whatever fragile control he had left shattered completely.
He stood and pulled her into a tight embrace, shoulders shaking.
"I thought I'd lose him," he whispered, voice breaking. "I can't lose him too."
Stacy held him without question, fingers digging into his back as if trying to keep him upright.
From down the corridor, Nia watched.
She didn't step closer. She didn't turn away immediately either. She simply stood there, something tight and unfamiliar pressing against her chest—not jealousy, not anger.
Something quieter.
Something that hurt without naming itself.
Eventually, she turned and walked down the hallway, her footsteps echoing softly against the sterile walls.
Inside the ward, time slowed again.
Raym lay pale against the white sheets, wires and tubes threading into him like reminders of how close he had come to slipping away. Stacy sat beside the bed, holding his hand gently, speaking to him in a low, steady voice.
"You'll be fine," she said. "You've fought bigger storms than this."
Raym smiled weakly. "You kids shouldn't see me like this."
Nyx turned sharply from the window. "Don't say that," he said, voice thick. "You're all I have left."
Silence settled over them, heavy and fragile, broken only by the steady beeping of the monitor.
When the doctor returned later that evening, his expression was lighter.
"He's out of danger now," he said. "You can take him home tomorrow. But—"
His eyes met Nyx's.
"No stress. No work. And most importantly—no emotional burden."
Nyx nodded quickly.
Relief flooded him. Guilt followed close behind.
The doctor asked Nyx to step into his office.
The room was small, lined with charts and humming machines. When the door closed behind them, the doctor's tone shifted.
"Your father's heart isn't weak because of age alone," he said. "It's carrying something heavy. Emotional stress."
Nyx frowned. "What kind?"
The doctor sighed. "The kind only family creates. If it continues, the next attack could be fatal."
The words lodged themselves deep inside Nyx's chest.
When he stepped back into the corridor, Nia was waiting.
"What did he say?" she asked gently.
Nyx looked away. "Nothing serious."
A lie.
"Take Dad and Grandpa home," he added. "I need some time alone."
Nia studied his face, then nodded. "Come back soon."
He smiled faintly.
Night found Nyx at the lake.
Moonlight painted silver across the water, turning the surface into a fractured mirror. He sat on a cold rock, staring at his reflection—the faint red glow in his eyes, the face no longer entirely human.
He thought of his father. Of his mother. Of his grandmother.
Of bloodlines and secrets.
"I'll fix this," he whispered. "I'll end it."
His voice hardened as resolve took hold. "I'll merge the worlds."
The water rippled.
Then his voice broke.
"But Nia…"
He closed his eyes. "I love you."
The words hurt.
Across the city, Joey sat in a dim office, gripping a case file marked Bob's Murder.
"This wasn't an animal," Anthony said.
"I'll find it," Joey said coldly. "And I'll kill it."
Outside, the wind howled.
Both worlds listened.