Page 89 of Ascension

“What about him?” she asked, even though her voice already sounded like she knew she didn’t want the answer.

James looked at her the way someone looks at a storm they can’t stop, steady, but with quiet dread. “If you want to say goodbye, now’s the time.”

The words hung there, sinking like stones.

Calla blinked, her mind working to catch up. “Goodbye? What, what happened?”

James' jaw flexed. “His wife shot him. Apparently, he found out she was cheating and tried to attack her, and she fought back. Everything was caught on the security cameras she’d installed after the first time he…” He stopped himself, lowering his voice. “After the first time, he hurt her.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Calla’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She wasn’t crying, just frozen; the color drained from her face.

I moved instinctively, reaching for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Breathe.”

Her eyes flicked toward me, dazed. “He’s really…?”

James nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not expected to make it through the night.”

Calla looked down, staring at our joined hands like she couldn’t quite understand how the world could feel so still when hers had just cracked open.

I squeezed her fingers. “You don’t have to go alone,” I said softly.

She nodded once, sharp and mechanical. “I need to get dressed.”

James reached for herclothes, his movements quiet, efficient. The tenderness in every motion said everything he didn’t.

The air in the room had changed; gone was the warmth, the laughter, the safe cocoon we’d built around each other. In its place was something heavier, raw and inevitable.

As Calla stood, shoulders squared but trembling, I realized that sometimes love meant walking with someone straight into the parts of their story they wished didn’t exist.

And tonight, we’d be doing just that.

Hospitals always smelled the same.

Sterile, sharp, too clean for the kind of messes that brought people here.

Calla hadn’t said a word the whole drive. She sat in the back seat, staring straight ahead, her reflection caught in the city lights that blurred against the windows. Amiyah sat beside her, hand over hers, steadying her without saying anything.

When we walked into the emergency wing, the air was thick with grief before we even saw anyone we knew. The kind of grief that sticks to your clothes.

Caleb and Calil were already there, standing near the far wall outside the ICU doors. Caleb was composed, but barely; his arms crossed and his jaw set so tight the muscle twitched. Calil looked like he might punch a hole through something to keep from feeling whatever he was feeling.

And surrounding them was what I could only describe as the Winston Hills inner circle.

Yanna and Dana were there, both still in casual clothes like they’d come straight from home, Ahmir standing close behind them, solid and quiet. Maverick leaned against the wall, deep in conversation with Knox and Ajaih. It felt less like a waiting room and more like a war room.

But it wasn’t untilI caught sight of Lena that I realized just how intertwined all of this was.

She was sitting a few seats down, her head resting on the shoulder of a tall, striking woman with honey-toned skin and eyes sharp enough to slice through concrete. Zaria, not only did I remember hearing the name several times when Miyah and I talked about Lena, but I also knew they were close. The energy between them easy, warm, the kind that didn’t need explaining.

Calil’s reaction, however, did need explaining.

He was staring at them like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or break something.

Caleb followed his gaze, then muttered under his breath, “Don’t start.”