The sterile, fluorescent lights of the private surgical ward were a sickening echo of the hospital rooms of my childhood. I paced the small, secured waiting area…a space Tyrone had cleared and locked down the moment the helicopter landed. Every muscle in my body was wired, my jaw tight to keep from screaming.
Rosline and Ronda were in the room with Belinda. The doctors, bewildered by the level of armed security, were operating under my direct threat: Save them both, or this hospital becomes a historical footnote.
My hands were covered in her blood, and I rubbed them frantically against my military trousers, the scent of fear and copper filling the air. The terror I had been suppressing for weeks had materialized into the one thing I couldn't fight: an internal threat.
"Jackson!" Tyrone burst through the waiting room door, his face pale and grim. He'd just finished securing the perimeter. "We need to talk about what happened. This wasn't some random accident. Someone got to her."
"I know!" I roared, whirling around. I didn't care about the network, the General, or the security breach anymore. All I cared about was the price of my own stupidity and the possibility of a final, crushing betrayal.
I grabbed Tyrone by the lapels of his jacket, my vision blurred with a sudden, searing guilt. "I did this! I told her I wished she had terminated the pregnancy! I told her I hated the risk! I was so furious she hadn't let me help, I made her think I hated her!"
I shoved him back, staggering toward the wall, running my hands through my hair.
"She kept the secret because she thought I was too weak to handle the danger! And she was right!" I choked out, my voice cracking. "I was so worried about my trauma, I never once told her what she needed to hear…I love this baby already! I just hated the lie! I hated that she was suffering alone!"
I slammed my head back against the wall, the dull impact grounding me slightly.
"But what if..." I struggled for the breath to voice the thought that was truly consuming me. "What if she heard those words, my rage... and she took action? What if she listened to me? The pain, the blood—did she try to kill the baby herself because I told her I wished the risk didn't exist? Did I push her to this because she thought I hated her for being pregnant?"
I looked at Tyrone, my eyes pleading for denial. "She thinks I hate our child, Tyrone! I love her! I love her more than anything! I just hate that I said such hurtful things about something so big!"
Tyrone watched me, his expression softening from shock to profound sympathy. "Jackson, no. She fought to keep this baby. She blew up a house to protect it. That's not a woman who gives up. But we need to focus. What was it? What made her bleed?"
"Find out," I demanded, the command cold and absolute. "Find out what she ate, what she drank, who touched her. I want a full breakdown of the South Wing for the last twelve hours. Someone compromised the fortress, and if I lose either one of them because of my anger, I swear, there won't be a corner of this globe that can hide the person responsible."
My gaze snapped back to the surgical doors, my fists clenching. I was a failure as a commander and a partner. All the steel in the world couldn't protect against a quiet lie, or a hidden enemy. My only prayer now was for the life of my Love and the little fighter she had concealed to protect my own broken heart.
The surgical doors hissed open, and Rosline emerged, her scrubs stained, her face utterly exhausted.
I was across the room instantly, grabbing her shoulders. "Rosline. Tell me. Them. Both."
She leaned against the doorframe, taking a ragged breath. "They're stable, Jackson. Both of them. It was close. Too close. The baby's heart rate spiked, but we stabilized them both. The threat... it appears to be over for now. It was not spontaneous. It was an induced trauma."
My blood ran cold. "Induced? What did they do to her?"
Rosline's gaze was direct, professional, and chillingly certain. "The symptoms point to a concentrated chemical agent—likely in something she ingested."
I released Rosline, turning wildly toward the secured waiting area. My eyes fell on Ronda, who was maintaining a silent, armed perimeter near the window. My guilt and panic, combined with the chemical attack revelation, needed an immediate, physical target.
"The green drink!" I roared, pointing a trembling, bloody finger at Ronda. "You put it in the fridge! You were in charge of her nutrition! You poisoned her!"
Ronda's eyes flashed with pure fury at the accusation. She didn't argue. She moved with the lethal, trained speed of a viper.
I lunged toward her, fueled by the terrifying certainty of betrayal. But she was faster. Before I could close the distance, Ronda dropped her shoulder, driving a fast, hard uppercut directly into my jaw. The force of the blow snapped my head back, blinding me with immediate, sickening pain. My knees buckled, and I staggered backward, my ears ringing.
Before I could regain my footing, she followed up, delivering a sharp, open-handed slap across my other cheek—a calculated strike designed not to wound, but to shock me out of my defensive agro mode. The impact was like a cannon, and the pain cleared the blinding rage from my eyes, replacing it with the cold, hard certainty of reality.
"I am her cousin, not her murderer!" Ronda hissed, stepping back to resume her guard posture, her own breathing ragged. "You let the enemy walk right through the front door. Find the leak, Jackson! Don't accuse your people!"
The pain, the shock, and the physical dominance worked. I staggered back to the wall, holding my jaw, the haze of irrational panic finally lifting. She was right.