Chapter Ninety Five

Chapter 95
Later that evening, Jay convinced her to go for a walk in the hospital's garden. The crisp winter air nipped at her cheeks as they strolled along the winding path, the faint glow of fairy lights casting a magical hue over the scene.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" Jay asked, his hands stuffed into his pockets.
Jemima smiled faintly. "How could I forget? I shot you during mission London and you told me to shoot you again.”
"Well, I was high on dopamine,” Jay defended.
"We were in the middle of a mission, you were meant to be high on adrenaline," she countered, laughing.
Jay grinned, the sound of her laughter warming him against the cold. "Fine, I should have attended the briefing the day before so you wouldn’t have thought I was the enemy. Can you blame me? You were intimidating. I was going to be working closely with SK!”
Jemima arched a brow. "Intimidating?"
"In the best way," he said quickly. "You had this air about you—like you knew exactly who you were and what you wanted. I couldn't take my eyes off you."
Her smile faltered, and she looked away. "I don't feel like that person anymore."
Jay stopped walking, gently taking her hand and turning her to face him. "That person is still in there," he said firmly. "And I see her every time I look at you."
Her throat tightened, and she blinked back tears. "You really mean that?"
"Every word," he said.
Jemima stepped closer, her heart pounding as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. For a moment, they stood in silence, the world around them fading into the background.
And then, slowly, Jay leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was as tender as it was full of promise. The soft kiss turned into a heated moment that neither of them could resist.
In that moment, Jemima felt something she hadn't felt in years—a flicker of hope.
For the first time, she began to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could piece herself back together. And she wouldn't have to do it alone.
The next day, the morning sunlight filtered through the hospital room's curtains, casting a soft glow on Jemima's face. She was awake, though her body ached, memories of the previous night flashing through her head which caused her to smile. The air felt still, as if the world outside was holding its breath.
She stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of her fragmented thoughts. Jay's visit the day before had brought her a strange sense of comfort, but something about his demeanor hadn't sat right with her. He'd been holding back—she was sure of it.
The soft click of the door opening drew her attention. Ava stepped inside, carrying a small bouquet of fresh daisies.
"Good morning," Ava said warmly, placing the flowers on the bedside table. "I thought these might brighten up the room."
Jemima managed a faint smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you."
Ava pulled up a chair and sat beside her, her expression soft but tinged with concern. "How are you feeling today?"
"Sore," Jemima admitted, a faint smile spread across her face as the events of the previous night with Jay flashed through her memories. He had certainly pleasured her in ways she hadn’t thought of before.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Ava inquired, a hint of a smile displayed across her lips.
“Oh it’s nothing. I’m good though. Jemma and I have reached an understanding so dr Elara and dr kaine will work together to integrate us and help me live with my past.”
"That's good," Ava said. "You're stronger than you think, you know."
Jemima studied her sister's face, noticing the faint shadows under her eyes. "You look tired. Is everything okay?"
Ava hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. "It's... been a lot lately. But nothing you need to worry about right now."
"Ava," Jemima said firmly, "don't treat me like I'm fragile. I know something's going on."
Ava sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Alan is missing," she admitted quietly. "And Jon... he's gone."
Jemima's breath caught. "Gone? What do you mean?"
"He was killed," Ava said, her voice trembling slightly. "It happened two nights ago."
Jemima's stomach churned. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Marcus thought it was better to wait until you were stronger," Ava said. "He's just trying to protect you."
Jemima shook her head. "I don't need protecting. I need to know what's happening."
Ava reached out and took Jemima's hand. "We'll figure this out. But right now, you need to focus on getting better. Let us handle the rest."
Jemima wanted to argue, but the exhaustion tugging at her body reminded her that Ava was right—she wasn't ready to dive back into the chaos.
Later that afternoon, Jay visited. He brought her a cup of tea from her favorite café, the familiar scent filling the room with a sense of normalcy.
"Hey," he said, his voice soft as he sat beside her. "How are you holding up?"
"I've been better," Jemima admitted. "But I'm alive, so that's something."
Jay chuckled lightly. "That's more than something."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Jemima spoke. "Ava told me about Alan and Jon."
Jay's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I thought she might."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to overwhelm you," Jay said. "You've been through enough."
Jemima frowned. "I'm not a child, Jay. I can handle it."
"I know," he said gently. "But you don't have to handle everything all at once. Let us take care of this for now."
The tenderness in his voice softened her frustration. "What are you doing to find Alan?" she asked.
Jay hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "We're following every lead we can. It's slow, but we'll get there."
Jemima could see the weight he was carrying, the strain etched into his features. "You're not alone in this," she said. "Don't shut me out."
Jay looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "I won't," he promised.
As night fell, Jemima found herself alone again. The hospital room was quiet, save for the faint hum of machines. She stared out the window, her thoughts a whirlwind of worry and determination.
She couldn't just sit here while the people she cared about were in danger. She needed to find a way to help, even if it meant pushing herself harder than she should.
The faint buzz of her phone broke the silence. She reached for it, her heart skipping when she saw Jay's name on the screen.
It was a text from Jay: I might have a lead. I'll keep you updated.*
Jemima's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to demand more details, to insist that he let her help, but she knew he wouldn't.
So she texted back: Be careful.
His reply came quickly: Always.
Across town, Marcus stepped out of his car in a shadowy parking garage. The air was thick with tension, the faint echo of footsteps the only sound. He glanced around, his hand instinctively brushing against the gun at his hip.
A figure emerged from the shadows, their face obscured by a hood. They carried a small envelope, which they handed to Marcus without a word.
"This is everything I could find," the contact said, their voice low and gravelly.
Marcus opened the envelope, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. Inside was a photo of Alan, bound and gagged, and a note with a single word:
Midnight.
Marcus's grip tightened on the photo, his jaw clenching. "Where?"
The contact shook their head. "That's all I know. Be careful, Valerian. This is bigger than you think."
Before Marcus could respond, the figure disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone with the chilling image.
Back at the hospital, Jemima's restless sleep was interrupted by a vivid dream—or perhaps a memory. She saw Alan's face, his expression filled with fear and desperation. He was trying to say something, but no sound came out.
She jolted awake, her heart pounding. The image of Alan lingered in her mind, a haunting reminder of how much was at stake.
Jemima reached for her phone and sent a message to Marcus.
She typed out in a frenzy: I need to know what's happening. Don't shut me out.
A reply came almost immediately: Not now, Jem. Rest. I'll handle it.
Frustrated but too drained to argue, Jemima set her phone aside and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out.
Marcus returned to the family estate, his mind racing. He spread the contents of the envelope on the dining table, studying the photo and the note. Midnight. The word echoed in his mind like a ticking clock.
Ava entered the room, her expression grave. "What did you find?"
Marcus handed her the photo. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Where is he?" she asked.
"I don't know yet," Marcus admitted. "But I'm going to find out."
Ava nodded, her resolve hardening. "I'm coming with you."
"No," Marcus said firmly. "You need to stay here. If something happens—"
"Don't even finish that sentence," Ava interrupted. "We're in this together."
Marcus hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But we do this my way."