Chapter 117: No other choice

"The doctors are powerless."

Those four words struck like a thunderbolt inside my brother’s office, leaving me instantly, violently trembling.

Darkness edged my vision, as if someone were slowly dimming the lights in the room. I tried desperately to anchor my gaze on something—the desk, Adam’s face—but everything blurred and melted around the edges.

"What do you mean...?" My voice sounded foreign, disconnected. I didn’t even understand how I was managing to speak when my throat felt as though it had been sealed with superglue. "Adam... didn’t they say... didn’t they mention innovative treatments? Is there really nothing left?"

My mouth felt like a desert. My tongue tripped over itself like a drunkard’s foot, and it was a miracle I wasn’t slurring every word, because my lips refused to cooperate. They just trembled. Every syllable had to be forced past the knot in my throat that grew larger and heavier by the second.

"They tried every single one of them," Adam replied, his voice flat, exhausted. He stood near the door, hands tightly clasped in front of him, looking at me as if he were terrified I was about to shatter completely. "Everything that was possible... Jane!"

The darkness swirled thicker, and my legs gave out. I slid down the wall I had been leaning against, gasping frantically for air, but my lungs refused to expand. They burned, constricting tight as cold, sticky panic clawed its way up my chest.

I wanted to scream. Beside me, Askold dropped to his knees and slapped my cheeks—hard, sharp blows that left my skin burning hot.

"Breathe!" His command cut through the fog suffocating my brain. "Adam, get some water!"

Heavy, hurried footsteps sounded nearby, and a moment later I felt my brother pressing a glass against my lips, trying to force me to drink. I took a gulp, choked, and sputtered as the liquid went down the wrong pipe. But I kept swallowing, because my throat was parched to the point of agony, every breath scratching the raw lining inside.

Then Askold scooped me up into his arms as effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all, carrying me over to sit in his office chair while gently stroking my hair. That tender touch sent tears stinging behind my eyes, hot and sharp. But I squeezed them shut, holding the flood back—because I knew if I let myself cry now, I would never stop.

"W-what do we do now?" I asked, clutching the armrests of the chair so hard my nails cracked against the polished wood. "What are they saying?"

In my chest, hope flickered like a fragile, razor-thin strand of glass—desperately searching for just one more option, one last lead I could cling to before completely breaking apart.

"We’ve tried every available blood type and compatibility match we could source," Adam said, cutting himself off. I saw his jaw clench tightly as his gaze shifted past me, a heavy, agonizing shadow passing over his eyes.

My stomach churned with terror; I knew that look all too well. It was the face he made only when the news was utterly devastating. "Except for one. Magnus’s blood. According to the doctors’ projections, his biological blood signature is the only thing that can trigger Matthias’s cell regeneration."

The news was a miracle and a nightmare all at once.

We needed Magnus’s blood. But that was impossible—an absolute dead end. He would never agree, not even if I fell to my knees and begged until my voice gave out.

And I had no idea what would happen if he ever discovered I was alive... that I had hidden his child from him all these years.

Would he snap my neck on the spot, or take his time tearing me apart? He hated me; he believed I had betrayed him.

So tell him about Matthias...? No. It was far too dangerous. It would put a target on both our backs. My little boy would be in constant danger. Besides... Magnus was a monster without a heart.

"What if we give him what he wants?" I looked up at Askold pleadingly, seizing on the thought like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline. "What if we finally grant him permission to relocate the grave?"

Askold only shook his head, slowly, deliberately. That single gesture shattered what was left of my hope, grinding it into fine, gray dust that settled deep in my soul and suffocated me.

"No," Askold’s voice came out cold and unyielding. I knew arguing was pointless—when Askold spoke in that tone, his word was absolute.

"That’s not an option. It will instantly trigger his suspicion. He isn’t an idiot... he’s far too dangerous. I still remember how he turned half the Upper District upside down in a matter of hours the moment he was discharged from the hospital, searching for you until he was told you were buried. And I don’t even want to think about what happened after that."

My body went rigid. Askold had never shared the full details of what was happening up in the high-tier zones. I only knew about the letters by complete accident—two years ago, a storage box had fallen off a top shelf in my brother’s office, showering the room in hundreds of sealed envelopes. Every single one bore the same signature: Rainn. Ever since, Askold had been stamping them Denied and sending them right back.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" I whispered, and the tears finally broke through, streaming scalding-hot down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t hold back the absolute despair tearing through me from the inside out. "I... I don’t know anymore. I’ll have to go back."

Askold turned toward the window, his shoulders locking tight. Every muscle beneath his dense tattoos flexed as he slammed his hands into fists, his knuckles turning stark white. He looked like a mountain on the verge of collapsing.

"Have you lost your mind?" he demanded, turning back with terrifying intensity. "Jane, that monster tore through the entire Upper District trying to find your body. Do you have any idea what he will do to you when he catches you?"

"I don’t have another choice!"

"Jane, he won’t let you leave. The moment you get close, your shattered bond will react. It will draw him to you instantly. A broken mate-bond pulls back toward its counterpart the second you step into his range."

"We’re out of time and options!" I pushed myself out of the chair, swaying on weak, rubbery legs that could barely support my weight. I forced myself to pace across the room, unable to stand still.

I couldn’t just sit there and accept that my son was dying.