CHAPTER 5

Lexi

I pace the sterile linoleum floor of the hospital corridor, the antiseptic stench clawing at my nose as machines beep faintly behind the door to Dexter’s room. 

My heels click against the tile, a sharp rhythm against the chaos brewing in my heart. They rushed him here hours ago, my boy, his small body limp in my arms, blood still staining his shirt. 

The doctors swarm him—tests, scans, needles piercing his fragile skin—but they find nothing. Almost two hours later, a white haired doctor comes out of the room. 

“We're doing the best we can,” he says when I asked if Dexter is alright now. He didn't seem confident. 

Then he added, “There's no sign of infection, no rupture, no reason for the coughing, the blood, ma'am.” 

“What does this mean?” I ask, more alarmed than I was when I brought him in. 

“It means, whatever is making your son bring up blood anytime he coughs isn't—” 

“No, doctor—you can't be serious.”

The doctor sighs. “Ms. Rex, I'm afraid we've run out of options. Your son's condition defies medicine and all I've learned.” 

I watch in shocked dread as my son's body jerks every few seconds and his throat swells, ready to expel another bout of coughing. 

“Except—”

“Exceopt what?” I ask, my throat closed tight, not sure if I'm ready for what the doctor has to say. 

“We can induce a coma?”

My lips part but only a confused gabble comes out. I grimace at him, shaking my head. “Excuse me?” 

He glances at Dexter fighting for his life on the bed. “It's the only way we can keep him alive long enough until we know what to do.” 

I grip my son's hand desperately, my feet turning to water as I stare at his precious body helplessly. The stranger the situation, the more desperate it gets. Rubbing his palm, I call his name under my breath, “Dexter, can you hear me?” 

My chest burns with a suppressed scream, as his body jerks, his little chest rising and falling with terrifying, irregular rhythm. Behind me, the doctor and nurses cluster, silently waiting for my call.  

Drawing a heavy inhale, I look at the doctor. “Do it,” I whisper harshly. “Save him, please.” 

Standing by the door, I watch the nurses prep him for sedation, then pump medicine into his veins. Seconds later, like a clock winding down, Dexter's muscles slacken, his head rolls to the side and he falls into a deep sleep. 

It’s all they can do, the doctor said. All their science, and it’s not enough.

They all walk out to let me have a moment with Dexter. With a heart in turmoil, I sit beside him and hold back the tears tugging at the strings in my core. 

One of the doctors linger, an older woman with gray streaks in her hair and a hesitant look in her eyes. 

In a low voice, she asks if we can have a word. “Ms. Rex, we’ve exhausted our options. This… it might not be medical.”

I start shaking my head, about to disagree with her but she shrugs. 

“I’ve seen cases like this before—unexplained things happen here, Ms. Rex.”

“What're you trying to tell me?” 

“It could be supernatural. Have you considered a mage?” she asks, almost warily. 

A mage. The word hits me like a slap, but I nod, desperate. “Do it. Find one. Now.” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m fraying.

Hours later, the mage arrives—a wiry man named Torin, dressed in a dark coat, his fingers stained with ink and ash. 

I lead him to Dexter’s room, where my son lies still, tubes snaking from his arms, his chest rising and falling too slowly. I hover as Torin sets up, scattering herbs across the floor, lighting candles that flicker with an eerie blue flame. 

He mutters under his breath, tracing symbols in the air, and I feel it—a prickle along my skin, the air thickening. Then he presses his palms to Dexter’s chest, and a glow flares, sharp and sudden. 

I gasp as an invisible mark blooms into view on my son’s neck—a jagged, swirling rune, pulsing faintly with a sickly green light.

“What is that?” My voice trembles.

Torin’s face hardens. “A hex. Old magic, vicious. Someone wants your son to suffer—someone with a grudge.”

I stare, my mind spinning. “A grudge? I don’t have enemies.” 

I’ve built Rogue Haven to help, not harm. I’ve buried my past, outrun it—or so I thought. 

Who could hate me enough to strike at my child? 

There are many who oppose rogue Haven and seek to keep us rogues under their feet but….

Torin extinguishes the candles, his eyes grim. “The hex is deep. As it stands, he’s got seventy-two hours before it claims him.”

Seventy-two hours. Three days. My knees buckle, but I catch myself on the bed’s rail, staring at Dexter’s pale face. 

“What do I do? How do I save him?” My words are a desolate plea.

The mage hesitates, then meets my gaze. “He’s a twin, yes?”

“Yes, he is…how could you know this?” 

“A mage knows what he should,” he replies. “The essence of his other half might break the curse. Twin bonds are rare, powerful— strong enough to unravel even this. Find his sibling, draw on that connection. It’s his best chance.”

His words crash over me like a tidal wave of memory and dread. My other son— the one I left behind on that cliff as I jumped with Dexter. 

Manny took him, raised him, and I’ve spent seven years burying that loss, telling myself he’s better off, safer without me. Now Dexter’s life hangs on that choice I made, and I’m choking on it. 

I sink into the chair beside Dexter’s bed, my hand finds his cold fingers. Helpless, realize the uncertainty of motherhood’s terrain is nothing like sitting behind a desk, ordering staff around. 

I can't order my son into wellness. 

I’m just a mother now, staring at a clock that’s already ticking down. Seventy-two hours to face my past or lose my future. I don’t know if I can do this—but for Dexter, I have to.

I see Manny’s wild eyes, hear his roar—“Give me the boys, Lexi!”—and my stomach twists. 

Return to him, to that pack, with Dexter in tow, begging for the twin I abandoned? Or stay here, and helplessly watch my son die?