The sun had no right being that bright.
Nolan groaned as consciousness dragged him back from whatever black hole Quentin had danced him into last night. His head throbbed like a bass drum under pressure, and his throat tasted like someone had ash-dusted a whiskey bottle and left it open next to a tire fire.
He blinked once, twice, then dragged a hand down his face. His knuckles were sore. His shoulder ached. The hangover wasn't the worst he'd had, but it definitely made the top ten.
He rolled out of bed with a grunt, feet hitting cold tile, and shuffled toward the bathroom. The automatic lights stung his eyes when they kicked on.
"Jesus," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
He relieved himself, then hunched over the sink, palms flat against the marble. His head hung low before he finally raised it, looking into the mirror.
The black eye had faded, replaced by a dull yellow smear across his cheekbone. The cut on his lip had sealed, and for the first time in weeks, the face staring back at him wasn't actively bleeding.
"Well," Nolan rasped, voice hoarse, "at least the black eye's gone."
He squinted, leaned closer, tilted his head.
"…but I still look like shit."
He exhaled hard, jaw flexing.
"I'll go over ," he added, dry. "Thanks, Quentin."
Still, there was something beneath the usual wear and tear a sliver of progress. His shoulders looked broader in the mirror, muscles more defined. He touched his chest, then his ribs. The workouts, the meals, the sleep something was finally working.
Then his phone buzzed.
He blinked, checked the screen.
He hesitated then answered. "Yeah?"
A girl's voice, small and tight with fear, "They're after me again."
Nolan straightened. "Where are you?"
"Still with Dr. Tompkins. My grandma… shes not awake and I don't want to leave her yet."
He hung up without another word and threw on clothes without caring how wrinkled or mismatched they looked. The hoodie clung to his sore shoulder, and he winced as he tugged on his boots. No time for grooming. No time for questions.
Dr. Leslie Tompkins' clinic sat like an oasis between two burnt-out buildings. Inside, everything smelled like antiseptic and old fabric. Nolan made his way down the corridor toward Sherry's room.
A tangle of wires and tubes fed into her arms, and her skin was paper-pale beneath the blankets. Her breathing was steady, but shallow. A sharp contrast to the woman he knew—gruff, loud, and never afraid to speak her mind.
Nolan stepped into the room and let the door swing quietly shut behind him.
Dr. Tompkins was at the foot of the bed, adjusting an IV. She glanced up and gave a small smile. "You made it."
"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice rough again.
Tompkins folded her arms. "She'll live. But not if she stays here much longer. I did what I could, but this place wasn't built for long-term care. She needs a proper hospital. Somewhere with more staff… and fewer enemies."
Nolan nodded once, a tight jerk of the chin.
"I'll figure something out," he said.
"I know you will," Tompkins replied. Then, with a glance toward the hallway: "She's waiting for you."
He left Sherry's bedside with one last look and stepped into the next room where the granddaughter sat curled on a cot, knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes locked onto his the moment he entered.
She looked like she hadn't slept. There were rings under her eyes, and her fingers were clenched around the fabric of the blanket like it was the only solid thing in the world.
Nolan shut the door behind him.
"Lisa," he said. "Can we get a minute?"
Dr. Tompkins hesitated in the hallway, then nodded and moved out of sight.
Nolan stepped further in.
The girl looked away first.
"You said they're after you again," he said.
"Tell me everything."
Her voice was a whisper at first. "I hear things. People's thoughts. Ever since the night they came for me."
"No. Thoughts. Like… whole sentences. Images. Memories." She hugged her knees tighter. "It's loud. Too loud sometimes."
Nolan crouched down beside her, his body protesting the movement. "You said you heard something about Cadmus."
She nodded again. "Before those two men tried to grab me I awakened and I guess I was close enough to Cadmus that I started going deeper into their thoughts. I learned too much."
She looked at her palms, " Then they tried to grab me and I did it again they were thinking about orders. About files. About people. Test subjects. I saw it. Felt it. Like being dropped into a real life movie but I was watching horrible experiments. "
"Could you… control it?"
"Not at first. I was screaming, but they didn't hear me. It was like I'd opened the wrong door in someone's head and couldn't shut it." Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs NovᴇlFire(.)nᴇt
Nolan's jaw clenched. "And now?"
"I've been trying to stay quiet. But I've heard things around here too. Dangerous things. I think they're close. I think they sent others."
He let out a breath. "That's why you called."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then she looked up, finally meeting his eyes. Her brow furrowed.
"You always look… pained," he said softly.
She blinked. "So do you."
Nolan tilted his head. "But when you look at me, it's different."
The girl hesitated, then said, "Because your thoughts hurt."
She swallowed. "I've only had these powers for a little while. But I've never felt someone like you. Not even close."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Your mind it's like walking into a storm. There's… too many voices. Too many walls. And every one of them is bleeding."
Nolan closed his eyes for a second, then stood.
The room felt colder now. Smaller.
"I'll keep you safe," he said. "But you need to stay alert. If they come back, we move. Fast."
She nodded. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap.
"And if you hear something again if anything new slips in—"
"I'll tell you," she finished.
"You know kid I don't think I ever caught your name."
She smiled a little, "It's Beth."