*Five Days Later*

Christmas arrived quietly, without bells or laughter, without warmth. It crept into the hospital ward like an uninvited guest, dressed in white walls and the steady beep of machines.

Thalia sat beside Jay’s bed, unconscious.

The IV drip hung above him, clear liquid flowing steadily into his veins. His face looked thinner than she remembered, his lips pale, lashes resting too softly against his cheeks. He had barely spoken since Tracey died, barely eaten, barely lived.

The doctors called it grief-induced collapse. Thalia called it terror.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the edge of the bed, her fingers wrapped tightly around Jay’s hand as if...