Dillian moved without another word, pushing through the door into the treatment room. Nicholas and I exchanged a quick, confused glance before we hurried after them. My stomach twisted into knots as we stepped inside.
The sight of Alpha Jackson hit me like a punch to the gut.
He lay on the bed, pale as death itself. His powerful frame looked broken, skin ashen and slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell in tiny, shallow movements, barely enough to keep him alive.
Machines beeped irregularly around him, the rhythm unsteady and weak, like his heart was clinging to life by a fraying thread. Tubes ran into his arms, and the metallic smell of blood and medicine hung thick in the air. Goddess, he looked nothing like the cocky rival who always pushed Nicholas buttons. He looked…fragile. And
