Chapter 209

Chapter 209
Elora

It flooded the room all at once, harsh and blinding after so long in darkness. I threw my arm up instinctively, squinting against the sudden brightness. For a moment, I couldn't see anything, couldn't—

Movement.

Sienna was running. Blood streamed down the back of her head, matting her hair, but she was on her feet and bolting for the door. My body moved to follow, but the pain in my arm suddenly flared white-hot, the injection site burning like someone had pressed a live coal against my skin. My legs felt heavy, sluggish.

No. No. I couldn't let her escape. Not now. Not after everything.

"Run!" I shouted after her, my voice cracking. "Run, Sienna! That's all you've ever done, isn't it? Running from one shithole to the next, always hiding, always in someone's shadow! And you know what? That's all you'll ever do! Because you and I? We don't belong to the same world!"

She stopped.

The effect was instant and visceral. Her body went rigid, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. When she turned to look at me, her face was twisted into something barely human—rage and hatred and something else, something deeper and more broken.

She looked at me. Then at Dad's hospital bed. And I saw the exact moment she made her decision.

"No—"

She pivoted and charged toward Dad, scalpel raised.

I moved without thinking, throwing myself forward despite the agony screaming through my arm. But even as I ran, some part of my mind registered the wrongness of her trajectory, the way her eyes kept flicking back to me—

The feint.

I realized it too late. My momentum was already carrying me toward the bed, and Sienna was turning, the scalpel arcing toward me instead. I tried to twist away, but I was off-balance, exposed—

The blade punched into my side, just below my ribs. Hot blood sprayed across Sienna's face, and for a moment, we both froze. Then she smiled, that terrible, broken smile, and leaned in close.

"Elora," she hissed, her breath hot against my ear. "Fuck your little darkness philosophy. Look at us now—look at who's bleeding. You already lost."

She wrenched the scalpel free, and I felt something vital tear inside me. My legs buckled. The room tilted. I was falling, and Sienna was raising the blade again, going for the killing blow—

Then I saw it.

A familiar shape. A syringe. The one from earlier—the glass cylinder still full of that deadly clear liquid, potassium chloride catching the faint emergency light.

But it wasn't on the floor where I'd kicked it.

It was in a hand. Knuckles white. Grip trembling but firm.

Dad's hand.

My breath stopped. Shock and confusion crashed through me in the same instant—how was he holding it? When did he—?

His eyes were open. Wide. Aware. Furious.

Before I could process what was happening, before Sienna could even turn, Dad surged upward with a roar that seemed to shake the entire room. The syringe flashed in the dim light as he drove it forward with brutal precision—not into her arm, not into her side—

Straight into her chest. Into her heart.

The plunger slammed down. Every last drop of potassium chloride pumping directly into the muscle.

Sienna's scalpel clattered to the floor.

"Fuck," she gasped, staring down at the syringe embedded in her chest. Her eyes—wide, terrified, disbelieving—swung to Dad. "You—you're awake? How—"

She tried to yank the syringe out, but Dad's hand shot forward, clamping down on her wrist with surprising strength, holding it in place. Holding her in place.

"Don't you dare touch my daughter," he snarled, and there was nothing calm about his voice now—it was raw, feral, protective in a way I'd never heard before. "You think I'm dead? I'm still breathing, you stupid bitch. And as long as I am, you don't get to hurt Elora."

Sienna's eyes went wide—shock, fury, and something else flickering across her face. Her mouth opened, trying to form words, but only a choked gasp came out. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips.

"You—" she finally managed, her voice breaking. "You killed me. Your own daughter. You actually—"

Dad's laugh cut her off. It was harsh, bitter, almost mocking.

"My daughter?" He leaned closer, his grip on her wrist tightening until she winced. "You were never my daughter, Sienna. You were a mistake. A walking, breathing reminder of every stupid choice I ever made."

Sienna's expression twisted—anger, disbelief, and beneath it all, that bitter jealousy I'd seen so many times before. Her eyes darted to me, then back to him, trying to speak but finding no air.

"Oh, and since you're dying anyway?" Dad's voice dropped, almost conversational now, like he was sharing a secret. "I might as well tell you what I've been holding back all these years. My biggest regret?" He paused, letting the words sink in. "It wasn't the affairs. It wasn't the lies. It was marrying your pathetic mother. And it was having you, you twisted little monster."

Sienna's body convulsed. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to her knees, gasping for air that wouldn't come. Her mouth worked soundlessly, trying to form words—curses, pleas, accusations—but the potassium chloride had already spread through her system. Her eyes bulged, fixed on Dad with pure, undiluted hatred.

Then she fell.

The sound of her body hitting the floor was final. Absolute.

I stood there, swaying, one hand pressed against the wound in my side. Blood was seeping between my fingers, hot and sticky, but I barely felt it. My eyes were locked on Dad, who was climbing out of the bed with slow, deliberate movements.

"Dad," I whispered. My voice sounded strange, distant. "You're—you're awake. How—"

"Elora." He turned toward me, his face pale but tight with urgency. "Don't talk. Don't—Christ, you're bleeding. I need to get help. The doctors—I have to—"

He started to climb out of the bed, movements stiff but determined.

Relief flooded through me, overwhelming and dizzying. He saved me. He was awake. He was—

I tried to smile, tried to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come.

Then the pain hit.

Not gradually. All at once. A tidal wave that knocked the breath from my lungs and sent the room spinning violently around me. My legs buckled.

I felt Dad's arms catch me before I hit the ground, heard his voice—sharp, panicked, desperate—but the words were already fading, distorting, slipping away into static.

Darkness swallowed me whole.