Megan moved methodically through the room, opening drawers and gathering various implements. She withdrew several clear bottles and two empty syringes from a locked medicine cabinet, the key dangling from a cord around her wrist. She laid out her equipment, preparing the medication with steady, sure hands.
“What are you giving him?” Ryker asked after the nurse filled the first needle.
She flicked the top, a small bead of liquid forming over the tip, and moved to the other side of the bed.
“It’s a cocktail of drugs.” She rattled off their scientific names. The terms went over Ryker’s head, but he was certain River would know what they were. That was the benefit of having a sister who was in medical school. He made a mental note to ask her about them later.
“And these should help?” he clarified.
“Yes. After yesterday, we’re modifying them slightly. Hopefully, this will slow the Stillness, if not halt its progress altogether. Theoretically, he should be more alert in a day or two.”
Hope.
What a fickle, fickle thing. Almost as fickle as the gods River prayed to each day. What good were prayers and hope when their father was still wasting away?
No, Cyrus didn’t need hope. He needed medicine, healing, and science.
After a few minutes, Megan stepped back. She gathered her things and dipped her head in Ryker’s direction. “I’m almost done.”
She placed the used needles in a yellow bin and moved through the room, jotting down several numbers on a clipboard before returning it to the foot of the bed.
Ryker squeezed his father’s hand and met the nurse’s gaze. “How is he, really?”
Pity flickered across the nurse’s face. “He’s stable, for now.”
Those last ominous words twisted his stomach.
“Have you ever seen someone return from the Stillness?”
Her mouth pinched in a line, and she shook her head before adding, “I’m sorry, no.”
He had expected her answer. They had consulted dozens of experts when Cyrus first fell ill. But it still hurt to hear.
Megan gave him a polite smile and pointed to a red button on the wall near the door. “I’ll leave you two alone. Just hit that if you need me, and I’ll be right in.”
“Thank you.” Ryker’s chest was tight. “Is there anything I can do?”
He hated sitting by helplessly, watching his father waste away. He was the one people went to when they had problems, and he wasn’t used to feeling like there was nothing he could do.
“You should try to talk to him. Sometimes it makes a difference.”
Ryker thanked the nurse, and she slipped out the door, closing it behind her.
Talk.
Such a simple action, but right now, it felt like all his words were lightyears away.
Death was inching closer to his father, ready to steal its prize.
Ryker’s chest burned at the thought. His eyes stung, and he shut them, forcing the tears to remain in place. He would not cry. His father needed him to be strong, to hold everything together.
But Ryker didn’t feel strong. He didn’t feel like the protector he was supposed to be. He felt broken, hurt, and on the verge of tumbling into a pit of despair. Things with Brynleigh were so gods-damned complicated, and he wished more than anything that his father could give him advice.
Cyrus couldn’t die. Ryker wasn’t ready. None of them were ready. How did one navigate life without their beloved parent by their side?
A millstone pressed down on his chest. Every breath hurt, every second ached, and everything was wrong.
The Stillness was threatening to tear his family apart from the inside out.