Chapter 36: Bargaining

“He can’t die. I didn’t survive everything just to lose him now.”

The steering wheel was slick from my grip.

I didn’t realize how fast I was driving until the tires screeched through the gravel path, headlights slicing through the fog. Every turn made Silas groan in the backseat, and every time he did, I swore the world tilted under me.

“Almost there,” I whispered. “Just hold on.”

No answer.

Behind me, Luna pressed a wadded-up shirt against his wound, her face set, expression unreadable. But I saw the red on her hands.

The way she adjusted his weight every few seconds, checking his pulse. Silas wasn’t fully conscious anymore — slipping in and out, murmuring broken things neither of us could understand.

I didn’t stop driving until we reached the safe house. An old cabin tucked between hills, disguised as a storm-damaged maintenance outpost. The kind of place you wouldn’t notice even if you walked straight past it.

I skidded to a stop and jumped out.

“Get the door,” Luna ordered, already dragging Silas halfway over her shoulder.

The weight of him — heavy, limp, too warm — hit me hard as we pulled him into the cabin. We laid him on the wooden table, the only clear surface big enough. He groaned, eyes flickering.

“Silas—hey,” I said, tapping his cheek gently. “Stay with us.”

His skin was hot to the touch. Burning. The fever had set in fast.

“We need to open it,” Luna said quietly.

My stomach turned. “Open… what?”

She pointed to the gash on his side, barely held together by clotting blood. “There’s swelling. If we don’t get the bleeding under control and clean it now, he’s dead in hours.”

I froze.

She shoved a first-aid bag into my hands. “We don’t have a choice.”

We worked fast. Stripped off his shirt. Sterilized what we could. Boiled water from the tank. I found a sewing kit in one of the cabinets and nearly dropped it when I realized what we were about to do.

“Scissors,” Luna said. “There. In the bag. And a lighter.”

I handed them over, my breath shaky. Luna heated the blade until it glowed faint orange, then nodded to me.

“Hold him down.”

“Wait—he’s not—”

She didn’t wait.

The second the blade touched the edge of the wound, Silas’s body arched. A scream tore out of him — hoarse, guttural, half-delirious. I grabbed his wrists and pressed them down against the table, tears blurring my vision.

“I know, I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

Blood poured out — thicker, darker. Infection had already started. Luna wiped it away fast, swearing under her breath, cutting deeper just enough to drain it, to clean it.

He slipped unconscious again.

“Is he—”

“Still breathing,” she muttered. “But we have to move.”

She poured antiseptic into the wound. I nearly threw up from the smell — rotting flesh and chemicals — but I didn’t let go.

He flinched even in unconsciousness.

Then came the stitching.

Rough. Crude. Bloody.

We did what we had to. Threaded torn muscle. Rejoined split skin. Burned through cloth gauze just to cauterize what wouldn’t stop bleeding.

By the time we were done, the table was soaked. My arms were shaking. Luna’s forehead was damp with sweat.

But he was still breathing.

Barely.

I collapsed beside him on the floor.

I didn’t care that I was covered in blood. I didn’t care that my back ached or that my head throbbed or that my knees had locked in place. I watched his chest rise and fall like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the planet.

Luna handed me a wet cloth. “Here.”

I wiped his face. Cleaned the sweat from his brow. Moved hair off his forehead.

“You did good,” she said softly. “He’s alive.”

“For now,” I said, voice raw.

She didn’t correct me.

I stayed there all night. Holding his hand. Pressing cold towels to his skin.

Whispering things I was too afraid to say out loud while he was awake.

I told him he was safe.

I told him I wasn’t going anywhere.

I told him — if he made it through this — we’d leave the country, disappear for real this time, with no more bullets or labs or bloodstained floors. Just the three of us.

Me. Him. The baby.

The fever raged until dawn.

But he kept breathing.

And I kept holding on.

——

The candle on the windowsill flickered low, casting long shadows across the cabin walls. Luna had finally stepped outside to give us space, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

I was still on the floor, knees drawn up under the table, one hand curled tightly around his.

Silas hadn’t moved in hours.

His face was pale beneath the bruises, jaw slack, breath shallow. The bandages Luna and I wrapped around his side were soaked through again. And the silence—God, the silence around us made everything louder. The clock. My heartbeat. Every tiny, fragile breath he took.

And me.

I cried the entire time.

Not the loud kind, not the choking sobs you see in movies. Just quiet. Endless. My throat was too raw to scream, and my eyes stung from salt. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, careful not to jar his wound.

“Please,” I whispered. “You don’t get to leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”

My hand slid down to his chest, just to make sure it still rose. I counted each rise like it was borrowed time. Like he might stop at any second.

“You stupid, impossible man,” I said, voice cracking. “You always run toward the fire. Always bleeding for someone else. And now I don’t know how to stop it.”

I reached for his hand and pulled it gently toward me. Cold. Clammy. I laced our fingers together, brought it down to my stomach, and pressed his palm there.

“We’re still here,” I said, barely breathing. “Me. The baby. We’re waiting.”

His fingers didn’t tighten. His eyes didn’t open. But I kept his hand there anyway. Just in case he could feel it. Just in case something—someone—reached him in the dark.

“I need you to come back,” I said. “I can’t raise this child alone. I can’t survive this alone. I survived you… the first time… losing you. And I swore I’d never do it again.”

The pain twisted tighter in my chest, a rawness I couldn’t hide. “Please, Silas. Please don’t leave us.”

The silence stretched. Minutes. Then longer.

Until something shifted.

A breath—sharper than the last. His fingers twitched faintly under mine.

My heart nearly stopped. “Silas?”

His brow pulled together. His lips parted, dry and trembling. He didn’t open his eyes, but his voice rasped low—so soft I had to lean close to hear it.

“Aria…”

I squeezed his hand. “I’m here.”

He swallowed hard, as if it took everything just to push the words out.

“…the file…”

My breath caught.

His voice dropped again, weaker. “Destroy it…”

I blinked fast. “What file? Silas, what file?”

But he didn’t answer. His head lolled slightly, his hand going slack again in mine.

I caught it, held it against my chest, shaking.

The file.

Whatever it was, he thought it was worth using his last strength to warn me.

And that terrified me more than anything else.