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Then, as abruptly as a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Joslyn's eyes opened. They were the same deep brown that Fiona remembered, now glazed with confusion but unmistakably present. "Fiona," Joslyn whispered, her voice a ghostly echo of its former vivacity.
"Jos!" A surge of elation shot through Fiona's veins like adrenaline. She gripped Joslyn's hand tighter, willing her sister to continue, to speak, to be.
"Can you hear me?" Fiona pleaded, each word saturated with urgency.
But the reunion shattered as quickly as it had formed. Fear—a primal, raw terror—flooded Joslyn's gaze. Her body convulsed, limbs flailing with a violence that belied her frailty. Fiona recoiled, her mind reeling.
"Joslyn, stop! You're safe!" But her assurances drowned in the cacophony of alarms and Joslyn's shallow, panicked gasps.
"Help! Someone help her!" Fiona's voice cracked, her plea slicing through the chaos. She watched, helpless, as Joslyn thrashed on the bed, her dark hair whipping across the pillow like storm-tossed waves. The monitors screeched their warnings, a discordant symphony to the terror unfolding before Fiona's eyes.
"Please, Joslyn, please calm down!" But her words were lost in the tempest of her sister's fear.
Fiona's thoughts spun, recalling every case file, every victim's plight, but nothing from her training had prepared her for this—watching the sister she longed to save spiraling into an abyss of terror. All her knowledge of insects, all her analytical skills, were useless against the human mind's shadows.
"Joslyn, I'm here!" she cried, desperation clawing at her throat. But Joslyn was trapped somewhere only she could reach, beyond Fiona's grasp, fighting an invisible assailant in her own mind.
The blare of the alarms was swift and jarring, fracturing the fragile hope that had blossomed in Fiona's chest. Nurses, clad in their scrub blues, flooded into Joslyn's room like a tide of calm urgency. They moved with practiced precision, hands steadying Joslyn's thrashing form as they murmured soothing words lost beneath the din of machinery.
"Please, step back," one nurse said, her tone firm yet not unkind. Fiona retreated, her gaze fixed on Joslyn's contorted features—a far cry from the placid sister she had spoken to moments ago.
Dr. Keller entered, his presence cutting through the turmoil. His eyes, sharp and assessing, took in the scene before him. "What happened?" he asked, voice level.
"Sh-she woke up... and said my name," Fiona stammered, words tumbling out in a rush as she backed away from the bed, her retreat halted by Dr. Keller’s guiding hand on her shoulder.
"Let's give them some space," he said gently, steering her towards the door. The click of the closing door muffled the sounds of the ongoing struggle inside the room.
Out in the sterile brightness of the hallway, Fiona leaned against the wall, her breaths coming in short gasps mirroring Joslyn’s earlier ones. The scent of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, but it couldn't cleanse the fear clinging to her thoughts.
"Joslyn spoke," Fiona managed to say again, her voice trembling like the last leaf clinging to a winter branch. “She… she wasn’t well after, but she still spoke. I swear it.”
"Good. That's good, Fiona," Dr. Keller reassured, though his furrowed brow betrayed his concern. "We'll take care of her. The team knows what to do."
He placed a comforting hand on her arm, grounding her amidst the storm of emotions. Then, with a nod that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he turned back to the room, leaving Fiona alone in the corridor.
She slid down the wall, hugging her knees close. Around her, the hospital continued its rhythm—footsteps, distant conversations, the underlying hum of life-saving machines. But in the void left by Dr. Keller's departure, Fiona felt an unsettling quietude seep into her bones.
"Joslyn," she whispered to herself, a prayer for her sister's return from wherever terror had taken her. The memory of Joslyn's voice—a ghostly thread of familiarity—was a lifeline in the uncertainty that now enveloped them both.
Fiona heard the measured steps before she saw Jake. He rounded the corner, his gaze sweeping until it found her crumpled form by the wall. His eyes, usually sharp and probing, softened with concern. Without a word, he crossed the distance between them.
"Red," Jake said, his voice low, a rumble that somehow cut through the cacophony of the hospital's relentless rhythm. He had pieced together her absence from the emergency ward, deducing her need to be close to Joslyn.
She looked up at him, her vision blurred by the tears that threatened to spill. The day's events had hollowed her out, leaving her feeling like one of the dry exoskeletons she so often studied. With Joslyn's name on her lips, Fiona pushed herself off the floor and into Jake's waiting arms.
His embrace was an anchor in the storm, a promise of solidity when everything else felt precariously close to shattering. Jake held her tightly against him, his hand cradling the back of her head, fingers threading through her curly red hair. For a moment, Fiona allowed herself the solace of his warmth, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.
"Joslyn's going to pull through," he murmured into her hair, his breath warm on her scalp. His words were not just hope; they were a declaration, a willful defiance of the fear that had gripped her since she'd heard her sister's voice—frail but unmistakable.
The strength of his conviction wrapped around her, and Fiona clung to it like a lifeline. It was the same tenacity that had driven him to become an agent after his mother's murder—an unyielding resolve that now bolstered her own wavering spirit.
"Thank you," she breathed, her voice barely audible against the fabric of his jacket. The hospital's antiseptic smell couldn't mask the comforting scent of Jake, a blend of his cologne and the faint smokiness from their earlier visit to the crime scene. It was a reminder of the world outside this corridor, of the life they had beyond these walls—a life she was suddenly desperate to reclaim.
"Always, Red," Jake replied, his tone carrying the unspoken pledge that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. Their intertwined cases, their shared pasts, and the uncertain future merged into this single point of connection. And in that embrace, Fiona found a momentary peace amidst chaos.
Fiona stepped back, the solidity of the hospital wall a harsh reminder to compose herself. Her heart was still racing, her thoughts an entangled mess like the webs they'd encountered at the crime scenes. "What about Victor Harmon?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Victor's our guy," Jake said, his eyes hard with determination. "But we need more evidence. We've got a warrant to search his house."
